


Different

by my_thestral



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy has always been different. For the longest time he could share with no one what makes him so, and it’s slowly killing him inside. Until the time is right for someone to step forward and pull him out of the world of shadows into light. Someone bold and intuitive, and quite different himself</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candamira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira/gifts).



> This was written for the 2016 [hp_mhealthfest](http://hp-mhealthfest.livejournal.com/) over there at the Live Journal, which is one of my favourite LJ fests, because the entries there are more often than not profoundly personal and anything than plain PWP. My deepest thanks go to my beta [bleedingangel84](http://bleedingangel84.livejournal.com) whose grammatical skill I have to thank that people don't leave me messages as "Did you write this drunk?" and "For god's sakes I'll confess to murdering Kennedy, just don't torture us with grammar like this ever again!" ;) She's brilliant, fast, patient and extremely helpful. If this story was placed in a non-magical AU it would be about autism, because this is something I, sadly, know from up-close.  
> P.s. Written for [Candamira](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Candamira) as her belated birthday present and because I miss having her around... :)

I… am different. I’ve always been different, I suppose. I don’t like to be touched, and I don’t like to talk, you see… And I rarely look people in the eye. I tend to stare to the side of them instead, or perhaps to the floor when it all gets too much, but…I have my reasons. Only… I can’t tell them to anyone. Father said not to because they wouldn’t understand – and I suppose he’s right. But that means daily doses of ridicule by my merciless schoolmates, and I certainly get called a _“freak”_ a lot. I guess being a Malfoy doesn’t really help. On most days, I’m all right – I’ve gotten used to it in the five plus years I’ve spent in this place – but sometimes it all gets a bit… much.  
  
I know I’m supposed to handle this like a proper Malfoy. I know that resilience is in my blood. I know that I should hold my head up high and proudly ignore their ignorant taunting and their feeble attempts at mockery and contempt. But they can be incredibly… cruel. How come I’m the one labelled _“the Death Eater Junior”_ and _“the Dementor Apprentice”_ when I never hurt a soul in my life – and they’re hurting me every chance they get? I protect myself as best as I can – it wouldn’t do for a Malfoy to allow anyone to walk all over him – but I’m never the one who instigates the violence, and sometimes I’m one against many. Too many. I honestly believe they would have killed me… or injured me beyond the point of acceptable “brawling” if it wasn’t for Rose Weasley, my fellow Ravenclaw.  
  
She is my only… well, I suppose a friend is too strong a word, because we don’t really hang out much – not outside of the common studying sessions anyway – and we certainly don’t share secrets and giggles… She’s got about a million relatives to do that with. But she just might be my only ally. And she certainly won’t let anyone hurt and abuse me in her presence; not if she can help it, not on her watch. She defends me fiercely, and if I could play my part better, I’m certain she would have everyone in Hogwarts believe that we’re the best of friends, so she could protect me better. She is so very caring.  
  
But I cannot get out of my skin, you see. I cannot pretend to be someone I’m not, I cannot fake closeness I don’t feel, I can’t build bridges to people who only judge me by my awkward behaviour, and I cannot… _not be myself_. The only person I’ve ever been close to is my father, and he is the only one who understands, the only one I’ve told… things. But he cannot help me here, and it was my choice to come to this place in the end. I want a proper education; and if that means that I will go through seven years of taunting with hexes on the side, then this is what I will have to endure. Therefore, I’m incredibly grateful for Rose’s graciousness. She gives me hope that there is a place for me out there, in the big wide magical world, to fit in and find my purpose after all.  
  
I suppose Rose understands me as little as others do – but she came to accept me the way that I am, and for me, that is a like a wonderful, soothing balm on a scorching wound. She’s exceptional. I’m quite certain it’s her doing that no Potter-Weasley child ever picks on me – but there are plenty of others in this school that would rather take the consequences of her wrath than leave me be. I guess abusing a fellow student must be incredibly fun. I wouldn’t know.  
  
As it is, there’s hardly a day that I don’t get back to my Ravenclaw dorm in the evening bruised and damaged in some way from the large variety of curses my schoolmates come up with. They’re very… innovative in that respect, because they know I won’t let them use the same curse twice without finding a proper defence for it. And still, hardly a week goes by that I don’t end up at the school’s Hospital Wing because the damage is severe enough to leave lasting consequences if not treated by a professional. Madam Pomfrey just sighs at the sight of me and starts muttering something about _“those dastardly Slytherin bullies”_ , but she learned long ago to avoid asking me who’d done it and trying to bring the culprits to justice. There are simply too many.  
  
The Hogwarts professors have always been very kind to me. I suppose Father must have explained the situation. And it certainly doesn’t hurt that I’m in the top five in all of the classes I’ve chosen. What else would I fill all my time with but study when I have no friends? No, it’s not the classes – or the professors – that I have problems with. It’s my mean, bigoted, narrow-minded fellow students, who probably do a jolly good job of presenting the mean, bigoted and narrow-minded world out there. Them and… myself.  
  
Sometimes I feel like _screaming_ out in frustration and just… telling the world why I’m so disastrously _weird_ , why I appear so distant, why can’t I focus and connect… And Merlin, do I long to show them what I’m capable of! Only… I can’t. Not only because Father says so, but because it would do me no good in the end. I’m already labelled a freak, and if they knew… Even if it did gain me the understanding, even the sympathy of some, their expectations regarding me and my behaviour might be too high a price to pay. I don’t wish any of that upon myself. As it is… I only wish I was different. _Normal_.  
  
Because, you see, it gets incredibly lonely. I’m not a person that needs much closeness – but here, in this ancient stone cage, I don’t get any. Sometimes I daydream about having a friend… not many, no, I’m not James Potter, you know, and I’m not _that_ greedy! Just one would do. Someone to sit with during lunch, someone to talk to when I’m frustrated by study, or bothered by life in general, someone to tell… well, things. My things. _About me._  
  
Because life had gotten so weird lately – so confusing. I’ve been having all those feelings I can’t cope with, I’m flooded by emotions I never knew, and I feel like crying all the bloody time! I’m growing rapidly, and my body is changing and I… my inside… is changing with it. I’m a mess to begin with, and this year, there’s this terrible Yule ball… Merlin, save me, it will be torture. I don’t know… It’s just me, I guess. I’ve gone so terribly sensitive. Perhaps that is why… I noticed him.  
  
I noticed him the way I never noticed anyone before. I knew of his existence, of course, but… this, now, is different. There’s a strange ache in my chest when I observe him, always secretly, always from a safe distance, so I can let my eyes bathe in his sparkling golden magic. He is _so very beautiful_. And a danger… to me. Because I think… there’s something about me that made him notice me, too. Almost as a part of me was calling to him, and he responded… I can’t put a name to it. It’s unacceptable, of course. It cannot be. I can’t deal with it. I can’t. I don’t know how.  
  
*  
  
_He is…_ different _. That much is certain. He radiates something… something sad and ethereal, as if he barely belongs to this world. He caught my eye immediately. My dad had pointed out the pale, slender boy before Rose boarded the Hogwart’s express, and mumbled something about that being Malfoy’s son – and, of course, instructed Rosie not to get close to him… But as much I my love my dad – and I do, fiercely so – he can be a bit of an idiot from time to time.  
  
Rosie and I knew about the Malfoys. We knew about the war – we knew too bloody much about it. Even the things we never cared to know! It was all people ever talked about when they approached us, though my parents and Uncle Harry try not to bring it up too often. So we knew enough. And we didn’t care one little bit. I knew Rosie would now befriend the pale slender boy out of sheer spite, and I… I found him intriguing.  
  
I only saw him for a minute or so, but there was something about him… James called it creepy, but I found the way he looked so…_ detached _from the crowd… mesmerising. He seemed so extraordinary, just standing there, appearing to be in a world of his own. I found him stunning… I still do. His pure, bright beauty is breathtaking, and he always appears so… clean, untouched, like a lonely prince among us peasants.  
  
When Rose made it home from Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, we found out how he was treated by his schoolmates and Rose, my gentle-hearted, thoughtful sister, was _ furious _because of it. She even shouted at dad when he tried to make a joke of it, and after dad had a private/not-so-private – more of a shouting match, you see – conversation with my mum, he came back to apologise – which is saying something. However, all that shouting cleared a few things up for me.  
  
Apparently, Scorpius Malfoy had been to every Healer in the magical community, yet he hardly ever speaks and always acts as if he’s barely present in this world. Mum said his father was deeply concerned because there was no doubt that something was wrong with the boy. But I wouldn’t call it wrong, just… special. In a good way. Besides, Rose let everyone know he’s really, really smart. Like, seriously brilliant. He’s right there at the top of every class with her – and mind you, my sister is a genius. I didn’t really care how brilliant he was – or how odd. I couldn’t wait to go to Hogwarts myself and see him again.  
  
However, when I asked Rose if they were friends, she paused before giving me a reply.  
  
“I don’t know, really,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d like to be his friend, but he doesn’t let anyone near. When he’s at his best, he’d look at you and smile – but as much as it is heart-warming, it’s also incredibly sad. Like… he would like to smile more, but doesn’t know how. And he’s just such a gentle boy, you know. There’s something about him I really like – but I think I’ve come as far with him as I ever will. I don’t think Scorpius Malfoy knows how to have friends.”  
  
And you see, that made me sad as well. So I resolved that I was going to be his friend, no matter what it took – even if it took all my time and… everything. And now I’m at the beginning of my fifth year – while he’s a year older – and I’m no closer to him than I was on that first day on the station. But I haven’t given up. Nope. It’s just that… I decided to study him properly. See what he likes, what he dislikes – and act accordingly. And that takes time, you know. It’s not like we’re even in the same year, let alone in the same house. And Rose, even though she’s probably the person who is closest to him, hasn’t been of much help.  
  
“Stay away from him, Hugo,” she tells me. That’s what she always says when I start pestering her about Scorpius Malfoy and his ways. I know she has the best of intentions, the same as any good big sister would, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to learn what I can. “He doesn’t like to be meddled with and the best favour you can do him, is to just let him be. He’s got enough on his plate as it is.”  
  
But I _ can’t _let go – I’ve got this really obsessive bit of personality from my mum, yeah? – and as it is, I have my way of getting little bits and pieces of information from Rose in the end. It’s just little things, things she doesn’t even know I pick up. Obviously, Scorpius loves to read – but that’s common knowledge – and he’s pretty wicked with his self-defence spells –_ wordless _self-defence spells, how cool is that?! He never goes after someone first, and sometimes his lips move when he’s in his detached, lonely place, almost as if he’s talking to someone.  
  
All right, I didn’t get that last bit from Rosie; I figured that one out by myself. I’ve spent so many hours in the library watching him that I think Madam Pince must be convinced I’ve got some kind of a weird crush on her, since pretty much everyone knows I’m not the bookish type. Hands-on experience – that’s me, and I got my apprenticeship place at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes as good as reserved. Uncle George adores me, and it’s totally mutual. I’m the only one who can make him laugh. I’d love to make _ him _laugh, though, Scorpius. I have a feeling he’d have a beautiful laugh.  
  
And though I’d be he first to admit that I haven’t got much to show in the way of progress in my ‘Friendship with Scorpius Malfoy’ project, I’ve got an ace or two left up my sleeve. First of all, I’ve built up a bit of a reputation myself. He can’t say he’s never heard of me, and not only because of Rosie. He’s been evacuated with the rest of them due to some of my more… er… _ daring _experiments going, uhm,_ slightly _awry. I hold the highest record of hours in detention since James Potter Sr. attended this respectable institution – and I’ve got two and a half years to go to beat the legend!  
  
So he knows _ of _me – and I think it’s time that he gets to_ know _me, like, properly. I have to think of a way to introduce myself, because somehow I think that bringing my tray to sit with him in the Great Hall won’t do the trick. He has to know that he can trust me right away, so he won’t get up and walk away with that vulnerable, ‘I-know-you’re-just-out-to-hurt-me’ expression he sometimes gets when those evil gits from school try one of their mean pranks on him. I’m not exactly Mr. Popularity myself. Especially not with the teachers. But I’ve got enough of a reputation to pull this off. And I have to work fast, because… well, because I plan to invite him to go to the Yule ball with me – and I don’t want Rose to ask him first.  
  
She’s going to, I know she will; she’s just charitable that way, even though she’s kind of blushing furiously lately whenever Lysander Scamander is near. I know for a fact she’d like to go with Lysander – I, erm, _ found _her diary, all right? But I know for certain – same diary, yeah? – that she’s planning to ask Scorpius because she can’t stand to see him miserable. She’s such a darling. But for once, sister dearest, you can relax and leave it to me. I’ve got this. Because, you see, I’m different myself._  
  
*  
  
“Scorpius, I was wondering… Would you like to go to the Yule ball with me?”  
  
_Merlin, Rose… What are you thinking?! You can’t ask me! You’ll be the laughing stock of the entire school! And I know you don’t really want to go with me, not with Lysander looking at you the way you he does, and you blushing so prettily!_  
  
And yet she’s done it, and even I know how great that is. It would solve all of my problems. Father has already sent me the robes – they are splendid indeed, well worthy of a Malfoy – so I know he expects me to go. And I know I won’t get an offer better than this. She’s lovely. She’s popular. And if I go as her date, no one will dare prank me for that one night. The revenge of the Weasley-Potter clan would be merciless. I’d be safe.  
  
But in that moment, I feel it… feel him. I look across the library and there he is. Hugo Weasley is sitting there all by himself, as he often does… but this time his crystal blue eyes are directly on me. He’s not even hiding it. He’s staring at me with a strangely intense, almost ferocious expression on his pretty freckled face, and… I know what he’s asking. I feel like I have no choice. If it was anyone other than him…  
  
“I can’t. Thank you, but I can’t,” I reply as calmly as I can. “You’re very kind. But you need to go with the boy you really like. I’ll be all right. Thank you… Rose.”  
  
I don’t say her name very often, because it feels strangely personal – and personal is hard for me. But I know she understands the meaning, my gratitude, behind my saying it now. Her eyes water instantly.  
  
“I just don’t want you to be miserable,” she whispers, and I nod.  
  
“I know,” I tell her, and I chance a look in his direction. The strange look on his face is gone, and his crystal blue eyes are calm now, but the small smirk in the corner of his generous mouth still bares a trace of wildness. There is something untamed about Hugo Weasley, and it scares me… and fascinates me. His magic is radiant, golden, magnificent, and lately, I can feel his presence as soon as he is near. I don’t know what he wants with me. I wish he’d let me be. He does, technically; he hasn’t said anything other than a casual _“hi”_ to me ever since he came to this place, but…  
  
It’s me, really. I can’t seem to get him out of my mind, and what little peace I used to have is gone. He’s even crawled into my dreams. And they’re the most beautiful dreams you can think of. They make me smile in those precious moments between dreams and waking, when time comes to a standstill, they make me blush even… And they make the reality I wake up to seem incredibly dull and harsh. I wish he’d let me be… I wish I could let him go.  
  
*  
  
_Uhm, have I mentioned that my plans sometimes don’t work? Temporary setbacks, Uncle George calls them. And this thing today… Bloody hell, Rose! Can you, like, stop being rash with your silly ideas?! She nearly beat me to it! It’s a good thing I was there! Though I’m still not quite sure what the hell even happened. I saw her whisper to him, I saw how tense her shoulders were, and how rigid he went after she spoke – and I immediately knew what this was. I was too late… or so I thought. So I looked at him… just looked at him, as intensely as I could, and I tried to tell him not to be stupid, because he can do better than my sister’s charity… And he went along with it! Imagine that! Perhaps he would have said_ no _anyway… but my gut tells me different.  
  
He responded to something I did, and that’s a good start. That’s a very good start. I can’t afford to blunder now._  
  
*  
  
“Oh, would you look at that… it’s the Dementor’s Apprentice. Why so gloomy, mute? Don’t tell me you haven’t got a date to the Yule ball yet?! Someone as chatty and charming as you…”  
  
Vincent Goyle, who else. And his gang of venomous snakes. Merlin, I loathe them. I’ve never walked out of meeting Vince  & Co. unharmed; mostly they just leave me behind battered on the floor. They’re so impossibly poor at spells they have to do it the Muggle way, you see. And there are too many of them. I wonder what his cronies would have said if I told them what I know of Vince. Not everyone wets their bed until they’re ten because they’re so dreadfully afraid of their own vile father. But I can’t speak. They wouldn’t believe me, and Vince – who would know for a fact that I wasn’t lying – wouldn’t stop before he found out how I knew such a private thing. _I can see, Vince._  
  
But nothing of what I can see can help me now, so I draw my wand silently, and wait to see how many I can take out before they get to me.  
  
“Oh, the prince is waving his stick again… When did that ever help you before, mute?! You should be grateful that someone volunteered to rearrange that blank façade of yours! Maybe if we added a few new shades, that bitch Weasley would take pity on you and ask you to the ball! How about it, mates? How about we shatter that porcelain mug and see what’s underneath?!”  
  
They don’t even cheer; they _grunt_ unanimously, like a heard of wild boars. Merlin the Merciful, if someone were to assign points to their intelligence, I’m certain that lot would achieve a collective minus.  
  
“Wow, Goyle… I’d ask to have such selfless intent in writing so I could take it to the Headmistress, but somehow I doubt you can spell _‘underneath’._ ”  
  
What on Earth – ?  
  
The crowd parted as quickly as a hot knife cutting through butter, and Hugo Weasley strolls through with his leisurely gait, stops next to me, and smiles beatifically. _No one_ dares to underestimate that smile. That smile is more dangerous than someone else’s death threat because it never comes without consequences. The best testimony to Hugo’s reputation comes when the entire crowd takes a single step back, like one giant Hydra. I’m sure they’re as lost as I am as to why he’s doing this. I’m equally sure no one cares to find out. Suddenly a lot of them are fidgeting and look awfully anxious to slip away. There’s danger about Hugo Weasley, and I can _see_ it. His usual golden magical aura is crossed with a storm of violet sparks, and his calm demeanour spells “RUN!” more clearly than any open threat would. He is terrifically beautiful. I don’t fear him at all. I have a different kind of problem. I think I must be poisoned by his scent. From up close, it’s… intoxicating.  
  
“What’s it to you if we have a little fun with the mute, Weasley?” Vincent Goyle mumbles, but he sounds a lot less conceited with his voice trembling. “I should think you’d be happy. His father and yours used to be mortal enemies when they were our age, you know.”  
  
“And _his_ father used to clean his shoes on the back of _your_ father when they were our age,” Hugo says pleasantly, and Vince makes a sudden move as if he wants to charge at him, but he’s quickly held back by many hands on his shoulders. Hugo doesn’t even wince. He smiles instead, and it looks _feral_.  
  
“Imagine we copied _everything_ our fathers used to do into present day,” he proposes lightly. “I’d have to be a bloody hero – twice over, oh, joy! – and my poor cousin, James, would have to save the world – or would that be Al? Hm… sorry, I can’t figure that one out. My money’s on James, though, since he’s the current Hogwarts champion at the Triwizard tournament.”  
  
He’s made his point. His father _and_ his mother are considered war heroes – and his uncle is Harry Potter, the Saviour himself. His family continues to be important. There’s _a lot_ of them. And if provoked, they can do damage that one meaningless bully like Vincent Goyle can never undo. Long-term damage. The Potter-Weasleys notoriously stick together like glue – and somehow, their one lone tentacle has reached out towards me, to protect me. Why is he doing this?  
  
He glances at me, as if my thoughts have provoked his in some way, and for a moment our eyes connect. And I shiver. Literally. I’ve never seen such intensity, such fire in anyone’s eyes – and it’s all for me. How do I know that? I just do. Merlin, what am I to do?! But he’s turned away from me already, and I close my eyes to find my composure, to keep the panic and… something else under rein.  
  
“Actually, I have to thank you, Goyle,” I hear Hugo’s smooth, honey voice continue as if nothing had happened. “I would have never managed to gather all the school’s – well, not villains, but perhaps… _notorious misfits,_ in one place. And I need to, because... well, frankly, because I’ve got an announcement to make. You see, the thing is: _this_ Weasley – that would be me and not my sister – is taking _this_ Malfoy here to the Yule ball.”  
  
The collective swarm of whispering – _“Whaaat?! What is he on about?! Is he serious?!”_ – would have made me open my eyes by itself, but what he had said… I’m sure my eyes are the size of the moon when they fly open, and this time, I look straight at him. And I’m not even uncomfortable. _Did I just hear Hugo Weasley say that he’s taking me to the Yule ball?!_ Judging by the stricken expressions and loose jaws of the jolly lot in front of me, I must have. That’s… that’s… _crazy_.  
  
“Now, I’m sure you understand if I want him in exactly the same condition that I found him in when I invited him. No bruises or other… _decorations_. I happen to like him the way he is.”  
  
Hugo glances at me with a small mischievous smirk in the corner of his lovely mouth, and I feel my knees rattling so badly that I just might collapse. He can’t be serious… he can’t be.  
  
“And should someone consider an attempt to _ruin my date_ – I’m afraid I’m going to have to consider some… counter-measures. For all of you. Collectively. And _one.by.one._ With or without the help of my family.”  
  
They’re staring at him with their mouths unhinged because I’m fairly certain no one can quite grasp the concept of a lone fifth-year-student, standing before baddest bunch of Hogwarts’ bullies, basically attempting to warn them off their favourite prey. It’s ridiculous, really. But they don’t think so.  
  
“What does that mean, Vince?” one of the geniuses Goyle surrounds himself with asks their leader dumbly. “We can’t fuck up the mute anymore? Or Weasley will blow us up?”  
  
“Well, basically, Bruno,” Arcane Zabini, the only pound of brains in this lot, explains calmly, “Should you consider putting a finger on Malfoy here, you can expect _not_ to recognise that finger once you get it back, according to Hugo Weasley, who’s got an off-the-charts rate of getting the fellow students submitted to the Hospital Wing – or sent to their parents crying.”  
  
“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Zabini. If I’m ever made the Minister of Magic, consider yourself hired to do my correspondence,” Hugo smiles brightly, and I can see Zabini has to try to suppress a smile. “So – any more questions? Good, I didn’t think – “  
  
“Poof!” Goyle hisses in that moment, and his voice is full of venom. “You’re nothing but a dirty poof! Do your parents know? I bet they don’t! It would be all over the press if they did!”  
  
But Hugo merely raises his eyebrow and frowns.  
  
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re on about, O Wise One. I’ve never even heard that word… but if it means someone who appreciates a gorgeous and wonderfully talented boy, then that’s it. Yep. I’m it. Poof, right? I have to remember this one and ask Mum about it. I’m sure she’ll be impressed. She might even be delighted enough to consider meeting such a prodigy of eloquence. Always out to scout for new talents, my mum.”  
  
The very idea of Hermione Granger Weasley, the current Deputy-Minister for Magic, storming into the school and investigating where her son had come in contact with such a biased attitude makes them huddle together like a flock of chickens under attack. Interestingly enough, Hugo’s mum’s got a reputation as well.  
  
“Have you even asked him properly?”  
  
Zabini strikes without warning, and I suddenly understand Rose, who’s always hissing that it’s Zabini, not Goyle, who should be eliminated from school so I could have my peace and quiet.  
  
“Has he said ‘yes’, then?” the pretty, slightly effeminate Slytherin wants to know – and when a broad, dark smile stretches his delicate features into a perverted grin, I know exactly what he’s getting at. Most of them have never even heard me speak. Teachers know better than to ask me questions, and calling me a mute – well, some of the merry bunch here don’t know any better. But he does. _Hugo does._  
  
So when he turns towards me, I realise with a sinking stomach that I’ll have to do my part. Only… I don’t know if I can. Even for him… But then he looks at me; just looks at me with those bluest of blue gems of his, and I’m reminded of what he’s trying to do for me and how I could just ruin it all. So there’s really no choice for me. I force my eyes to look straight into his… and I say as clearly as I can:  
  
“Yes. Of course I’ll go with you.”  
  
Seeing that smile fade from Zabini’s face is nothing compared to the feeling that floods me when I watch the heavenly blue light flash in Hugo’s eyes. It’s _magic_ in its purest form. Once I look into his eyes, I’m lost. I can’t stop staring.  
  
*  
  
_Merlin… that voice… I just realised I’ve never heard his voice and it’s so… mellow, so melodic, and all kinds of manly already. Oh, I love his voice! I need to hear more of it. I need to figure out what this is that’s been bothering him – because I need to hear more of it. Good Lord.  
  
And now he’s staring at me. Straight at me. Into my eyes. He’s got eyes made of sparkling… fluid… molten silver, and fuck me if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful. And… I just realised I don’t want to be his friend. I want to be his boyfriend. I’m totally and completely fucked. And loving it._  
  
*  
  
I can hear Rose shouting at him all the way into the dorm, even though they must still be standing in the corridor, and the Hogwarts walls are quite thick.  
  
“You can’t manipulate him to be part of your insane designs, Hugo! Merlin, Hugh, sometimes you’re as bad as dad – like an obstinate pig who’d run at the mountain troll naked to prove his point! I won’t let you use him, you hear me?! I won’t!”  
  
“He said _‘yes’_ ,” Hugo says calmly. “Don’t be jealous if he said _‘no’_ to you.”  
  
Oh, boy… he really does know how to rile her up.  
  
“I’m not jealous, you idiot! I only asked him because – ”  
  
“He can probably hear you, you know,” Hugo interrupts her calmly. “You’re doing _a Grandma Molly_ again.”  
  
“Jesus, Hugh!!!” I hear her hiss… but that’s the last thing I hear. I think Rose finally realised that I _might_ be able to hear her. After all, it is the general consensus of the Hogwarts population that Rose Weasley’s voice raised in anger could very likely be an effective component in raising the dead. Even I know that.  
  
She startles me by crashing through the door unexpectedly and gasping: “Scorpius…”  
  
After she notices the alert look in my eyes, she visibly tries to calm herself down.  
  
“Scorpius… you don’t have to go to the Yule ball with Hugo, you know that, don’t you? I don’t care what he made you say, he’s always making people say things – he’s a manipulative bastard that way – but you shouldn’t feel _compelled_ unless you really want to. Do you really, _really_ want to, Scorpius?”  
  
I’m not looking at her, I’m staring at the ground, my fingers fidgeting nervously like they usually do, but I can feel her eyes on me, and I know she’s expecting my answer. And I give it before I can think of what the right one is. I nod.  
  
I hear her exhale slowly, as if she was just shocked out of her wits, so I force myself to look up, into her face, and I tell her the truth.  
  
“I really do.”  
  
And I do. For some stupid, unfathomable reason, my very heart is elated to think that I’m going to the Yule ball with Hugo Weasley. I’m sure I’ll be half-dead with panic and anxiety when the time comes – but right now, the very prospect of it is spinning my head.  
  
“I see,” she says quietly. “And how long has this…”  
  
“Are you done interrogating him?” Hugo peeks through the door he’s blocked from closing with his foot, and my heart jumps crazily in my chest.  
  
He slips me a small smile, as if he wants to greet me, but then turns to Rose, all business-like, and urges her:  
  
“Come on, then. You got your answer, and there’s barely any time left for lunch. I’m ravenous. Threatening people with doom always makes me hungry.”  
  
Seriously… Weasley men and their food. The love affair so great even I know about it.  
  
Rose sighs, clearly resigned, and murmurs something about getting her books and going to classes directly from the lunch break. And just when I finally get enough courage together to risk a glance at him, hoping for one last impression of the golden magic and crystal blue orbs, I meet his eyes, as if they were focused on my face all this time – and my breath stops in my chest as he smiles softly. Merlin… with the rate my heart is going, I’ll be lucky not to give myself a coronary by the time of the ball!  
  
“See you on Saturday, Scorpius,” he says quietly, and as soon as they’re gone, I collapse onto the nearest armchair and don’t move for the longest time. It’s Saturday. _This_ Saturday. How could I have forgotten how soon it was?! Suddenly it seems impossibly close – and ages away. I dread it – and I want it. I’ve never been so confused in my life. _And there’s no one around to help me._  
  
*  
  
_Wow, Merlin…_ did you hear that _?! Did you just hear Scorpius Malfoy say, of his own free will, that he wants to go with me to the Yule ball?! Like…_ really _wants to! And I didn’t even have to twist his arm – or his conscience – to do it! He had said it himself! It sure knocked Rosie off her charitable high horse! With an added bonus of letting me hear his lovely voice again. Oh, bloody hell, can this silly Saturday come already or what?! Because I’ve got plans. I know I’m going to have to improvise – this is Scorpius Malfoy after all, and he’s anything but ordinary – but, boy, do I have plans!_  
  
*  
  
“Are you all right?” he asks me softly, and the next thing I know, his long, firm fingers wrap around my jittery ones. Normally, I would have flinched at anyone’s touch. But not today. Not with him. I’m too out of it to even answer, so I shake my head instead, because it would be pointless to lie. Anyone can see what I wreck I am.  
  
We’re about to walk into the Great Hall, grandly decorated for the occasion, and I think I just might faint before we get there. And it doesn’t bloody help that Hugo is a dream come true tonight. The splendid lightning-blue robes, the silken fiery hair for contrast, those incredible eyes…. I _hate_ touching people, I _fear_ it, for… my own reasons. But I’m so incredibly drawn to him that I feel almost physically ill from longing the second he wraps his fingers around mine. How is it that I simply want to _sink_ into this lovely boy beside me and become a part of him? I must finally be going as crazy as they think me…  
  
And suddenly those sweet, soft lips are by my ear, and how I don’t collapse is anyone’s guess.  
  
“Scorpius… I need you to unwind a little. _Breathe_. Close your eyes if you have to. I’ll lead you. And hold my hand as firmly as you need to. We only have to walk in – walk to the end of the hall so we’re seen attending – and then we can head straight for the punch bowls, and relax a little. We don’t have to dance or anything, I promise. Can you do that? It doesn’t have to be for me… for your father, if you’re desperate for a better reason. That Skeeter woman is here, and she’d commit murder for a picture of the Malfoy heir collapsing. We can’t let her have that.”  
  
And somehow those are exactly the _right_ words. The image of Father, staring numb at another shame his unworthy son has hung onto the Malfoy name… that really does it for me. And I know Skeeter. I know her cold malice and how she’s slandered me before when my father wouldn’t grace her with a statement regarding my shortcomings. She’s not beyond putting the image of me on the floor under the greasy: _“The Malfoy heir can’t even walk!!!”_ headline, and if anything, _that_ helps me find whatever strength I have left to continue.  
  
“Oh, good… there’s some colour left in you after all,” Hugo murmurs, and I swear his warm breath will be the death of me. “Are you ready to go on, then?”  
  
I nod stiffly, because I’m still not quite sure I’ll make it all the way to the end, but I have to at least try. _I’ll be under a different kind of assault as soon as I enter… but nobody knows that._  
  
*  
  
_In the words of my dad: JesusMerlin… how bad does he have it?! He needs to do this, of course. Not for me and my silly threat to the Slytherin scum, but because he needs the knowledge that he can do anything when he puts his mind to it – and because that bitch Skeeter is actually watching, and I want her to see the Malfoy heir take a walk down the Great Hall just like any other boy his age. I want to shut her up. I want to shut them all up. Because in spite of his crippling anxiety, he’s stunning tonight. I wish this night was about dancing. I would have loved to dance the night away with him. But it isn’t. I’ve got other plans. I’ve got a puzzle to solve._  
  
*

“I… can’t… do… this… anymore…” I grit through my teeth, and whatever was left of my façade cracks to pieces. I’ve made it. I’ve made it through the Great Hall with my hand squeezing all the blood out of Hugo’s fingers. I’ve seen Headmistress McGonagall’s eyes go round at the sight of us, and then water in happy excitement. And I’ve walked right past an incredulous-looking Skeeter and her evil quill scribbling with frantic speed – and I even managed to plaster a stiff smile onto my face. For Father. For what I made him endure. But now I’m done. _They’re too much… too much of an overload…_  
  
I collapse onto the nearest bench close to the table with punch bowls, and I cover my face with my hands to hide my meltdown. I can’t breathe…  
  
But then I feel the warmth of his body next to me as he pulls me into his embrace… and I’ve got no strength left to fight it. My fingers wrap around the silken fabric of his shirt, and I squeeze frantically, desperate to feel something real…  
  
“Shhhh… listen to my heart, Scorpius… just close your eyes and focus on my heartbeat… relax, love… just my heart… there you go…” he whispers to me as he would to a frightened wild animal, and my heart skips a beat when I hear _that_ word. I know it’s just a figure of speech… I know it. But still… He’s here for me, and I’m incredibly grateful for his warm, soothing hands sliding down my back. _real… so real_. So near, so warm, so _alive_. I don’t want to let go. Every fibre of my body is shaking as if from exhaustion, and I’m dead frightened to open my eyes.  
  
“There’s so many of them,” flies out of me before I can stop myself, but right now I don’t care that I’m suppose to keep it a secret. _There’s too many of them._ “I can’t take it.”  
  
For a long while he’s silent, just rubbing his strength and his warmth into my back, and my body gradually relaxes. I’m nearly limp with exhaustion. One by one, other thoughts – other than _“breathe”, “don’t look”, “you’re safe”_ – start to trickle in, and all of a sudden there’s a taste of bile in my mouth. Merlin… how badly I must have disappointed him! He must be desperate to get out of this situation! I’ve ruined everything! I have to let go of him. I have to! Only… I can’t. And he doesn’t seem eager to let me go, either.  
  
“Scorpius,” he suddenly speaks in an uncommonly calm, smooth voice. “Are you seeing something I’m not?”  
  
And my head just _shoots_ up. I look directly at him, my heart ready to jump out of my throat with panic… and hope.  
  
“How do you know?” I choke out. “How could you possibly know that?! Have you been talking to my father?! Has he told you about me, then?!”  
  
He’s looking at me as if I’ve stunned him – and I realise that the words have just been pouring out of me, with no reservations, nothing to fear, _no one to distract me._  
  
I’m blushing and blanching a second later; I’m hot and I’m shivering, and I’m so damn undone that I don’t know what to do with myself. I want answers. How does he know?!  
  
“No, I haven’t been talking to your father; I barely know what he looks like,” he finally replies, and the way he’s looking at me, looking me straight in the eye, as if he wants to reach out to me, makes me think he’s telling the truth.  
  
“But the thing is…” he adds slowly –  
  
“Oh, there you are, Hugo! I’ve been looking for you! Fancy a dance?”  
  
A superbly-dressed, beautiful young witch, who greets Hugo in a foreign accent, seems delighted to see him. I think it’s one of our visitors from the Beauxbatons Academy. I might as well be made out of air; she only has eyes for Hugo, and she smiles at him radiantly.  
  
“Not at the moment, Aimée,” he says kindly. “I’d love to, of course, but perhaps a bit later? I’m in the middle of something right now.”  
  
“Hmpf… I see,” she replies, sounding disappointed, even suspicious, but perhaps because it wasn’t an outright rejection, she doesn’t object. “Find me, yes?”  
  
“Of course, chérie, I’ll do my best. Have fun until then – and if you care for a bit of advice, stay out of James Potter’s way – he may be one of the champions, but he dances like a bear. You should be safe with my cousin Louis though – he’s a superb dancer.”  
  
He sends her off with a sweet, mischievous smile, and there’s nothing in his voice indicating that he’s got a lap full of a mussed-up, miserable-looking boy with tear-stricken face still firmly holding onto his wet, crumpled shirt with his fists. I really need to get ahold of myself. Only… I don’t know where to start.  
  
“I’ll be waiting...!” she sings in a ringing voice as she floats away on a cloud of muslin, and he mutters under his breath: “Well, don’t hold your breath… bloody inter-school relations… I’m not an ambassador, you know!”  
  
“I’m ruining your evening… I’m sorry. You should go,” I try my best, though my heart is screaming for some answers. But this is Hugo, and if he’s taught the world anything about himself, it is never to underestimate him. He shakes his head and says firmly:  
  
“No. I’m good. But just for the sake of having some peace and quiet – would you care to take this somewhere else?”  
  
I nod with a big knot in my throat, because this is it. This is what I want. But it’s going to leave me alone with him, and with my heart, thumping somewhere in my ears, I realise he’s going to want some answers as well. Can I do this?  
  
*  
  
_I was right. There_ is _something. He’s not mad, like everyone thought him to be. He’s dealing with something… something murderously difficult, and I have to get him to talk; tell me what it is. He can’t carry this alone. He’ll truly go mental in the end. But I have to give him something in return… something about me to make him trust me. I only hope he’ll still be willing to do so after that._  
  
*  
  
I don’t know where he’s taken me – I’ve never been to this place before. It seemed like just a wall with a tapestry – and then he walked past it several times – three, I think – and suddenly, there was a door that I could swear was not there before. But this is Hogwarts – pretty much anything but Apparition goes here.  
  
“Wow, Dad, thanks!” Hugo murmurs, looking a bit shocked himself, but very pleased. When we enter, it looks suspiciously like a cross between our Common Room and my father’s library in the manor. It’s warm and cosy, and most of the light in the room seems to come from a pleasant fire crackling in the fireplace. There’s a large, comfortable sofa with a bunch of pillows in front of it; there are thick carpets on the floor and stacks of books everywhere – and I feel right at home. I think that’s the purpose. It’s like the room wants me to relax. It’s working.  
  
“There, a bit more privacy at last,” Hugo smiles, and leads me to the sofa like he would a child on insecure feet. “Oh, and I brought these,” he says.  
  
He pulls a shrunken punch bowl in a protective bubble and a tray of food out of his pocket, enlarges them, and puts it all on a small table in the corner – that I could swear was also not there a moment ago. “It seems the room won’t offer that, Dad says, because food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to – ”  
  
“Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, yes, I know!” I finish, astounded that he knows of that. He’s in his fifth year, how could he possibly know that?! And a room that _makes_ things? That’s bizarre even for Hogwarts! I’d love to know more – only I realise that I’m too distracted and raw to bother. If one of the purposes behind bringing me here was to take the edge off my anxiety, it certainly worked.  
  
He finally comes to sit next to me. I look at the pretty freckled face with those deep crystal eyes, the translucent complexion glowing golden in the light of the fire, and I realise that I’m probably looking at the most beautiful, complex soul I’ve ever met. For some reason, I trust him implicitly.  
  
“What is this all about, Hugo? Why did you bring me here? And how did you know – guess? – _that_ … those things I’ve told no one but my father about me?”  
  
Merlin, I sound pathetic. I should take it slower and not try to fit a lifetime worth of words into my first time alone with Hugo Weasley.  
  
“Just… please, one question at a time,” he lifts his hand as in defence, and smiles. But because we’re sitting so close, his long fingers brush against my chest, and the little patch of skin seems to catch fire at once. Oh, god, please… I really don’t need _those_ sensory experiences as well… I’m already overwhelmed. I look up, into his eyes, and I get lost in the stormy sea of blue. It would be so simple to just sit here, looking into Hugo Weasley’s magical eyes, and have none of the answers matter any more.  
  
“You’re a bit overwhelmed, yes?” he asks gently, and I swallow before I nod. How did he – ?”  
  
“You must be wondering how I know these things… how I _guessed_ about you,” he continues, and I can see that he’s a bit nervous himself. I nod again. Speaking is not my forte.  
  
“You see, the thing is – I’m good at empathy. Like… awfully good at it. Magically so. I pick up all kinds of information about people without even realising it – and I translate it into accurate knowledge about them. At first I didn’t even know how that worked, but lately, I’ve been exploring it consciously and… exploiting it. Together with my… _other_ gift.”  
  
He glances nervously at his hands and... I swear, I don’t know how it comes about – but my hands crawl on top of his and cover them. This is a big, big thing to me. _Big thing._ I don’t touch people. I don’t. Sometimes I’ll tolerate them touching me – but I don’t… like touching. It feels like an invasion. Except with him, it’s… different. Safe. Impossibly exciting – making my nerve-endings tingle like a million tiny pinpricks – but safe all the same and… _right_ , my instincts say. I’m fairly certain I’m blushing like a tomato.  
  
Only then I realise how icy cold my hands must be because it feels as if I just put them on a hot magical rock that radiates warmth as well as strength. I can feel the power pulsating behind his hands, and when they turn around with the palms facing upwards, and those long, strong fingers capture me, I’m not surprised. I expected it… I hoped for it. But I know that whatever is coming must be big.  
  
“Have you heard of Imperius Curse?” he asks quietly, and something like shock strikes me through the chest. Of course I’ve heard of it. It’s an Unforgivable!  
  
“I can do… something like that,” he confesses, just as quietly as before, and he holds the connection between our eyes. “I can make people say things… sometimes do things. Manipulate them. Without them knowing so. They don’t feel forced, like they’ve done what I wanted – it’s not _like_ the curse, yeah? – but they feel as if they’ve done what they wanted, only it ends the way I want it to end.”  
  
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask him breathless, but I think I know the answer already, and the pain is just around the corner.  
  
“Because I’ve done it to you,” he says simply; but there’s sadness in his voice that wasn’t there before. “When I asked you, well, not exactly with words, to go to the dance with me, because Zabini called me out on it – you said ‘yes’… because you felt you had to. Am I right?”  
  
“Yes,” I whisper, but somehow it doesn’t _feel_ like I’ve been manipulated. And then another thought springs to mind. “Did you also make me say _‘no’_ to Rose?”  
  
He nods slowly, and my heart sinks. I wanted to trust him so badly, but how can I, when he can do something like this? My hands move to pull out of his tight grasp, but they close around me like a warm cage, and I realise, I don’t really want to go. Or do I?  
  
“I’ve told no one,” he suddenly says fiercely. “Not a soul. I think Rose is beginning to suspect – she’s a bloody genius, yeah? – but no one else knows. Mum would only turn me into one of her lab rats and demand that I act responsible about it, while Dad would probably ask me if I can make the Chudley Cannons win the league championship or something insane like that. But… I wanted to tell you. Because I want you to know what I _can_ do, and I want you to remember when I say that I’ll _never_ do it to you again.”  
  
“Why would you even tell me now?” I ask him in a shaky voice, and I realise… I’m angry. I came so close to trusting him… so close. And now it’s all ruined. I should have known better than to trust anyone. We, the Malfoys, only have each other. I wish my father was here.  
  
“I heard you say to Rose that you really wanted to go with me, and _that wasn’t me…_ I didn’t make you say that,” he says quietly, almost stubbornly. “And I realised how much it meant to me that you really wanted it, yourself, not because I made you. I was just… oh, never mind,” he finishes and the defeat in his voice is unmistakable. “I guess you’re not going to believe me even if I tell you, and it’s my own damn fault. I only wanted to make it right. I should never have done it… but I wanted to help you, because I sense your sadness and your fear – and I was just… so bloody desperate to go to the ball with you. There. I’ve said it.”  
  
His fingers suddenly open –and I’m free to go.  
  
Only – I don’t.  
  
*  
  
_He keeps staring at me, unmoving, with the intensity he usually stares past other people, and I’m feverishly hoping he can do Legilimency because I was as honest as I was ever going to be. I hold his look, and it’s no effort at all – not with those magical silver eyes being a sight straight out of heaven. I swear there must be tiny specks of diamonds in those eyes and – oh, would you just look at those long, long eyelashes?! From up close, they look shockingly thick… and above those lustrous eyes they seem soft like a pair of feather fans casting long shadows down his pale cheeks – oh, he would have been as pretty as any girl if they were just a shade darker! Wow… And – oh, just stop, bloody stop, Hugo. It’s not like you’re getting another chance after today!  
  
I’ve willingly blocked my charm, my gift– and I feel strangely empty without it. I’ve only learned of it, of what I can do, a couple of days ago, through a number of experiments on unsuspecting cohabitants of Hogwarts – and it worked every single time. Students, professors, people I’ve barely noticed, family – it didn’t matter, it worked. This is something I can do; it seems to be an integral part of me. And it feels… funny, empty, wrong… to push it aside. But this once, for him, I’m willing to do without it. He’s worth it. And even if he gets up and leaves… breaks my bloody heart… I have to let him.  
  
He hasn’t, so far. He keeps staring._  
  
*  
_I can’t see them._ He’s got none. _None._ Absolutely none. Not one. That’s… amazing. I wonder how it must be to live… so free. _They_ usually tell me what the person is like. With him, I’m on my own.  
  
Something that’s been tightly clutched inside of me for as long as I’ve known of my existence is beginning to slowly uncoil when I look for the truth in those bluest of blue orbs. He holds my stare, unrelenting. He’s got eyes of such clear, glittering blue that they could wash someone clean of their sins; eyes that look as if gods themselves have poured heavenly light into them. One could find absolution at the bottom of those eyes. I’m only hoping for peace. He could give me that. There’s power and magic enough in him to fend _them_ off – and it’s all I ever wanted. If only I knew if I could trust him... I realise I feverishly hope so. Only one way to find out.  
  
On impulse, I take his hands into mine again – for the second time that day – and when I speak, my voice trembles slightly.  
  
“Would you like to know what I’m all about, Hugo Weasley?”  
  
As if those words have given him my permission, his warm, strong fingers close around mine, and he breathes a single word.  
  
*  
  
_Please._  
  
*

I suppose you’ve noticed that I’m… different. It’s sort of hard to miss, I guess. But perhaps you don’t know that I've always been different… from the day I was born, I was told. My Grandmother Narcissa mentioned once that I did not scream like babies normally do when they come into this world. I did not utter a sound for the longest time, as a matter of fact. I've been… silent. Silent to the point of people thinking me mute. Silent until everyone had given up on me and thought me dumb as well.  
  
_“No curse,”_ the Healers said, first those from St. Mungo’s, then others, from all over the magical world.  
  
_“Strong magical vibes… but very unclear future,”_ the Seers agreed one after another.  
  
_“Perhaps autism; Muggles know of it… have you checked?”_ a bushy-haired witch – it must have been your mother – once mentioned to my father, upon which he went positively wild, called her a Mudblood, and shouted at her that his child didn’t have some dirty Muggle disease.  
  
_“No visible physical abnormalities… but I’d have to check more thoroughly,”_ the single Muggle Healer – they’re called doctors – proclaimed in the end.  
  
That was the last of them they had me see. No more came after that. I remember it all, you see. I remember opening my eyes and looking at the blurred image of my mother, the first and the last I would ever see of her. _Alive,_ that is. Then he came into my sight; my father, smiling and crying at the same time, though I’m certain he didn’t know it at the time. Then came all of _them_. The pale ones. Father was _surrounded_ by them. And they looked so stern, and so sad. They scared me. Scared me speechless. It was as if their presence took my voice away. And it took me a while, a long while… years, to realise, that no one else could see them.  
  
By that time, I had gotten used to silence. It wasn’t really silence, not for me, you see. The only silence I got was when I was left alone. But as soon as there was someone else in the room, _they_ followed, and they demanded my attention. People would find it very awkward, disturbing even, when my eyes shifted to the side of them, and I appeared to lose my focus on them. No one knew how hard it _really_ was when their companions were so much louder and distracting. I tried to ignore them, especially when Father would gently turn my face towards himself and say in a stern voice that never quite lost the undertone of despair:  
  
“Up here, Scorpius. Please, try harder.”  
  
I tried; I really did. But in the end they were always stronger, louder, and scarier. So I learnt to only talk to them. I learnt how to form words in my mind in the way that they seem to understand, and only rarely, when I was positively certain they were all gone, I would whisper quietly to myself: “Please go away. Don’t ever come back.”  
  
But no one ever heard me, and whispering always made me feel so weak.  
  
It took me even longer to understand that _they_ were not mine; that they belonged to the people they followed around. And only gradually, I came to understand who they were, but I never quite stopped fearing them. During that time, everyone had slowly given up on me. Everyone but my father, that is. He’d bark at anyone that dared to imply that I was anything other than _“the quiet type”_ , and he would turn his haughtiest when someone suggested looking for help.  
  
“Malfoys don’t need help. They boy is fine. He’s just… quiet. He reads and writes exceptionally well, you know…” – that much he knew, and it gave him immense pleasure – “… and you know very well what I think of speaking when one has nothing to say. I can’t stand the pointless chatter myself.”  
  
He would say it in such a tone that no one dared contradict him. Not even Grandmother Narcissa – and that’s saying something. He protected me, and he believed in me, fiercely and with unwavering affection, and I loved him for that in a way I could never express. Until… that night.  
  
“Your letter from Hogwarts arrived today,” he said when we were done with our evening meal and we’d moved to sit in a sofa in front of the fireplace in his private quarters. I can still see him in my mind as he was that day. He fiddled with his glass of Ogden’s finest, then took a large gulp from it and set it on the table a bit too hard. I realised then that this was one of those rare moments when he let the evening drink win a battle against his self-control, and the bitterness emerged, along with despair.  
  
“I don’t know to what purpose, though,” he said harshly, slurring a little, and I knew this couldn’t have been his first glass. “What use could they possibly have for you there? What use could you possibly have for them? McGonagall must be mad!”  
  
I positively froze. I’d never seen him like that. Not _quite_ like that. There had been moments… moments of weakness, of course… but not like this. At that moment, he seemed so raw, so very vulnerable and exposed, that my heart positively broke at the sight. And for once, even _they_ were quiet.  
  
“You’re a punishment,” he suddenly blurted out, breathing deeply – heavily… as if there was poison rising up his chest and he could not stop the flood. “You killed your mother coming out. You will never be a proper Malfoy. Not like this. Yet you _are_ the Malfoy heir. _My_ heir. My punishment. For my sins. For what I’ve done.”  
  
And then he stumbled down to his knees in front of me and put his arms around me, his shoulders heaving under all the weight of the world, and he cried for so long I thought he’d never stop, and then some. And I was heartbroken. The things my father carried in his heart would be enough to crush a man twice my age, but I was only an 11-year-old boy, lost and scared out of my wits. And for once, when I could’ve used _their_ words, _their_ advice, anything, _they_ were silent. When his sobbing finally subsided, he was still holding onto me as if he was drowning, and he told me in a worn out, tired voice:  
  
“I love you. As you are. Please, forgive me.”  
  
And those words broke something inside of me. I stared at him, hard, and only at him. No one else mattered. My father needed me, and I needed to do this. However scared and weak I might have been. I felt _her_ presence then, and I lifted my eyes towards her. She was our only hope left. She had been his wife once, she was my mother, and now, she was the only one that could save us. And she tried. She spoke and told me what to do. If I obeyed, I would never see her again. If I didn’t, my father would never be whole again. There wasn’t really a choice. Not for me. I was the Malfoy heir. I was his son. And for the first time in my miserable life, I let my love for my father overcome my fear of _them_. Finally, I spoke.  
  
“You need to forgive yourself,” I told him. I spoke slowly – I wasn’t really used to it, you see – but my words came out clearly, and I only told him what _she_ told me.  
  
I think I had startled him so that he had no idea what I’d said. His eyes turned big and silver like the moon, and he kept staring at me as if he’d just witnessed a miracle.  
  
“What… what magic is this… by gods?!” he finally managed in a broken whisper, and his grip on me tightened to the point of pain. “I must be more drunk than I thought… I thought… I thought I just heard you speak.”  
  
“You have… Father,” I told him, and I have to admit that I kind of liked the sound of my own voice. It sounded a bit… odd, like a rusty chime, but I was quickly getting used to it. I had never known speaking would give me such comfort. _They_ seemed less real when I spoke, less powerful, somehow less important.  
  
“But how…” he breathed, disbelief and hope mixing in his voice in an inseparable, heartbreaking blend. “After all this time…”  
  
“You’re hurting me,” I told him, because he was clinging on to me to the point that I was going breathless. He immediately loosened his grip and tried to straighten himself up, but as he was still a long way from sober and kneeling down, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.  
  
“Thank you,” I told him, and because I was thankful, I smiled. This was what one did when one was grateful, Grandmother Narcissa told me, but I couldn’t manage it at the time. She had only one of _them_ following her around, but that one… that one _beastly_ woman scared the very breath out of me. But I did smile at that moment, at Father, and when _they_ smiled with me, I knew I was doing the right thing.  
  
“Merlin, child… will the miracles never stop?!” my poor, broken father said in an awed, torn voice. “I must be dreaming.”  
  
And then, sudden fear fluttered across his features like a startled bird, and in an instant, he looked crushed.  
  
“I _am_ dreaming,” he said in a shaky voice, as if certain recognition suddenly drowned all his hopes. “It’s only a dream. What else would it be? Why else would you say such… strange, strange words, your first…. How could you possibly know…?”  
  
“Because _they_ will never go away if you don’t forgive yourself,” I explained quietly, the way it had been explained to me.  
  
“They…” he looked at me, lost, and I remembered that he could not see them. Suddenly, I was terribly frightened and apprehensive that he would push me away once he knew… but I had come too far to back down any longer.  
  
“The creatures around you,” I told him in a shaky, uncertain voice. “The pale ones. They’re always so sad and restless. They talk to me sometimes, ask me to send their greetings to people I’ve never heard of, and… some are scary.”  
  
My father went positively grey. All the colour ran out of his cheeks, and he stared at me as if he couldn’t believe what he’d been hearing.  
  
“Merlin, child…” he whispered, and then added as if on a second thought. “How long have you been seeing them?”  
  
“As long as I can remember,” I told him. “They used to be angry at you… but now they are not… not any longer. They want you to let them go.”  
  
He didn’t say a word. He just nodded numbly. Perhaps he wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t simply caught in the middle of a most bizarre dream.  
  
“We will talk about it in the morning,” he told me at long last. “We need to get you to bed. You need your proper rest… and Merlin knows, I need mine tonight.”  
  
This time he helped me get ready for bed himself, no house-elves involved. After he had tucked me in, he brought a chair next to the bed and put his head on the pillow next to mine, just looking at me, as if he couldn’t get enough.  
  
“Go to sleep, Scorpius,” he told me gently after a while, and I replied _“Yes, Father,”_ instead of just nodding, because I knew it would make him happy to hear my voice again.  
  
“Good night, Father,” I added just before I closed my eyes, and it brought a smile to his lips indeed, along with the tears in his eyes. Father smiles rarely, but he has such a pretty smile. It turns his grey eyes silver, and his sharp features soften into a more boyish form, and then I can finally see what people have in mind when they say that we look alike.  
  
I closed my eyes then, feeling safe for the first time in my life, and he ended up holding me by the hand the entire night. He must have fallen asleep at some point because I felt him get startled awake so violently that he woke me up as well.  
  
“Scorpius…” he whispered nervously, as if not quite sure to expect, and I mumbled, _“Yes, Father?”_ , in the sleepiest voice, because I was simply too tired to open my eyes.  
  
“Nothing,” he murmured after a while, sounding shocked and relieved at the same time. “Forgive me. Go back to sleep, son.”  
  
“Mhm…” I mumbled, huddling closer to him, and I promptly fell back asleep in his warmth. Perhaps it was only my imagination that I heard him whisper: _“So… not a dream after all…”_  
  
When I woke up the following morning, he was already dressed up and sitting by my bed, patiently waiting for me to wake up.  
  
“Good morning, Scorpius,” he said and his voice was strangely tense, as if choked by held back expectation, perhaps even neglected hope.  
  
“Morning, Father,” I said, sounding groggy to my own ears, but his face immediately exploded in the most beautiful smile I ever saw.  
  
“Merlin,” he whispered in a shaky voice, as if this was all he could manage. It certainly took him a while to continue.  
  
“Would you meet me downstairs for breakfast?” he wanted to know, and I only nodded, because old habits are hard to break.  
  
“Good… excellent. See you in half an hour, then,” he told me, looking pleased and nervous at the same time. I joined him after I got myself ready, and for some reason, I was anxious as well.  
  
But he greeted me with a welcoming smile, and I relaxed a little. We began eating in amiable silence, and it took him a while before he finally decided to speak.  
  
“Last night you mentioned something… that seemed to bother you,” he said carefully, as if not entirely certain if I might regress back to my unresponsive state… which, I realised, must have been his worst nightmare.  
  
_“Them,”_ I said, and I looked at _them_ , surrounding him from all sides, as they always did – only, they somehow seemed more sparkling and transparent than usual. Somehow, like this, they appeared almost beautiful, and they certainly intimidated me less than they usually did.  
  
“Do you wish to continue the conversation?” he asked in a strained voice, and I could see how very much he was trying to be delicate. “We could drop it,” he proposed hastily in the next moment, as if he was anxious to let me know that I owed him nothing. “We could forget all about it, if you wish to. Forget it every happened. Just… you seemed scared, and… you will be leaving for Hogwarts in a few weeks. You are… you’re the only one I have left, and…”  
  
“It’s all right,” I cut him short, because I sensed how very awkward the situation must have been for him – and because this was something I really needed to do. I looked at _them_ , and they slowly nodded, one by one. So I took a big breath, I looked at my father, and then I just blurted out:  
  
“I see your nightmares. I see things… people you dream of. Shadows... perhaps close to ghosts. Some of them. Others are barely apparitions. Some aren’t even that. Just like… echoes of things. They’re nothing like the ghost of Great Great Grandfather Cygnus, roaming the west wing, scaring no one but the house-elves. These are different: yours, and yours alone. They’re the ones you carry inside wherever you go. I see your fears, your regrets. I see what haunts you, what you can’t let go.”  
  
At this point, my father turned ghastly pale. I didn’t think he was able to find words at all, so I continued.  
  
“They talk to me. Tell me things. Things I don’t understand. Terrible things. About killings. And pain. And the half-man without mercy and without a heart. Sometimes, very rarely, they cry. Often, they scream. They scare me… _used to_ scare me a lot. The woman that walks with Grandmother Narcissa… she is… ghastly. Venomous. Evil. Her very presence sucks the light out of the room. Her mad cackling… it sends shivers down my spine. She would tear us all to pieces if she could find a way back through the veil, she told me. And I believe her.”  
  
Father looked as if he was ready to faint.  
  
“So it’s not only me…” he tried in a fading voice and I shook my head.  
  
“It’s everyone. Everyone with bad dreams. Everyone who is haunted by their fears. Anyone who cannot let go. Grandmother Narcissa only has that woman, though. You have about a dozen. Grandfather Lucius…”  
  
I swallowed. Grandfather Lucius had had a proper _army._ And his were _livid. At him._ I could never stand to be around Grandfather Lucius for long. _They_ made my head hurt… and I hated how repulsed and _loathsome_ his face got when he looked at me. Luckily, I didn’t have to see him anymore. He had one cognac too many after the Christmas dinner a year before, and he called me _“a bloody freak”_ in front of Father. And my father, without a blink, had drawn his wand on him. If it wasn’t for Grandmother Narcissa, it would have not ended well.  
  
We left that day in a hurry, and I never had to go back. Heaven be thanked. I hated that place, the manor. It’s the only place where I could see _them_ with no people present, as if the very place has nightmares.  
  
“So what made you speak _now…_ after all this time?” my father finally spoke, and his very voice seemed to be crumbling.  
  
“I always spoke… to _them_ ,” I tell him. “As soon as I could attach meaning to words. Only I never even had to open my mouth to do it. I _think_ the words, and they seem to hear me. I begged them so many times to stop coming… until I realised that they don’t follow me. They follow other people. I learnt after a while that they could not harm anyone… but they still scare… they _used to_ scare me. They talk and talk, to no end sometimes. One on top of another. Over things… horrid things… things no child should ever hear of. It drives me positively mad from time to time… because it’s such a mad cacophony of voices and noises. I used to be scared all the time. Confused. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. And I only wished for peace and quiet,” I confessed, and at this point he closed his eyes. I’d never seen such a defeat plastered across anyone’s face.  
  
“Sweet Merlin, what a fool I’ve been. My poor child… Will you ever forgive me?”  
  
I got very still and quiet to make sure he looked at me again, and then I told him:  
  
“You are my favourite person, Father. No one loves me the way you do. No one ever believed in me the way you do. There is nothing to forgive. I do not wish to see a shadow of myself standing next to you as well, tormenting you. I… I love you, Father. I’m doing this for you.”  
  
He covered his mouth with his fingers, and they were trembling like autumn leaves.  
  
“You’re right,” he said after a while, and I saw just how much of his Malfoyness it took for him to even have the ability to speak. “My pity is disrespectful. Just… you are the bravest person I’ve ever known, and I’m in awe, because I was such a coward when I was your age. I admire you… and I love you… with all my heart, son. Please, go on…”  
  
But I couldn’t. I have it really hard when I get too emotional. I… shut down, or something. I had to swallow my emotions, and that’s always a struggle for me. I saw in his eyes how he ached to hold me, but he knew of my aversion to touching, so he merely offered his hands, and I held them until I got better.  
  
“Anyway,” I finally found words. “I soon realised that I had my peace and quiet with no people around. I had it when I didn’t reply, and people eventually let me be. And what was I supposed to say? That I see _them_?! Who would have believed me? And even those who would, might wish me locked up, like Grandfather Lucius proposed!”  
  
It burst out of me in a hysterical, shaky voice, and I realised that I just uttered my deepest fear.  
  
My father stared at me across the table, shocked, and as pale as one of _them_. When his fingers gripped the side of the table unknowingly, as if looking for support, I saw how badly they were shaking, and how desperate he was to hide it.  
  
“ _I…_ would have believed you,” he told me in a low, nearly fanatical voice. “I _do_ believe you. And I would have protected you. From them, from myself, from anyone, if it need be. I would _never_ have you locked up, Scorpius Malfoy. _Never_. No matter who asked it of me. No matter who proposed it. Never. You are my flesh and blood; you are the only thing still worth anything in my life. You _are_ my life. There’s no one else. I lost it all. Yet I have you, and I feel as if I have everything I shall ever need. You… the mere thought of you, Scorpius, keeps me alive. I would have succumbed to… to what I’ve become, to what life made me, to the multitude of my demons… a long time ago, if it wasn’t for you.”  
  
He looked so miserable, so… lost, that it made my heart ache like a deep burn when I thought that I did this to him. Yet he sat there, composed as well as he could be, determined to get his point across, resilient in the sight of the worst of his fears – and I could not help but admire him: _this_ was my father. He was… wonderful. Magnificent. And I loved him so much – too much for words.  
  
“You wouldn’t speak,” he continued with the same feverish despair. “And everyone but a precious few kept whispering behind my back that you were dumb. But you only had to walk into the room, and the light seemed to enter with you. I cared nothing for them… yet I felt that you were not at peace. Unhappy. All those Healers… I knew something was wrong. I knew it!” he added with savage resolve in his voice. But then he looked straight at me, and he spoke in a barely audible voice. “I only want to make you happy, son.”  
  
My throat was tight again, and there was a tremor rising up inside of me that I had as little control of as I would of an earthquake. When I looked at _them_ , they lingered there with their heads bent, as if this was somehow their fault, and they acknowledged it and were properly ashamed. And I said my silent goodbye to them. I wasn’t going to see them again. Not this lot. Not after that day. Many others, to be sure, but not those. I looked for _her,_ and I found her immediately. She was the only one with her head held up high and smiling at me.  
  
“Goodbye, Mother,” I told her in our silent language. “I will do as you asked of me.”  
  
And she bent her head elegantly, as if thanking me. Then she put her hands onto her heart and released them towards me in a slow, gracious motion, as if she was sending me her love. I knew what she was asking of me.  
  
“You can tell him yourself,” I told her, and I saw her pale eyes go wide with surprise and golden rays of hope.  
  
“You asked me why now,” I looked at my father next, and I startled him from reverie, as he seemed to be getting lost in my face. I got up and approached him. “It has to be now, because I have a message to deliver. From Mother.”  
  
I could just spot his eyes go wide with shock before my fingers closed around his wrist. I felt the surge of magic inside me and I focused… and everything went black for a while.  
  
The next thing I knew, I was kneeling next to my father, collapsed onto the floor, and there was blood running from his nose. I caught what could be a distant glimpse of _her_ , more of a feeling than an actual sight, but then even that was gone – and _they_ were no longer to be seen. They left him. But Father… Father was awake and aware, and even though his limbs were shaking uncontrollably, as if from a terrible effort, the flood of words that burst out of his mouth could not be stopped.  
  
“Good God, Scorpius… they were there. Every last one of them. All the people I ever hurt… everyone. And I asked forgiveness of them, I got my chance. And they told me… they told me I was only a child, forced to hurt them, and that it was time to let go. They _forgave_ me. And then I saw your mother. Merlin, Scorpius… I saw her as she was on the day she left us, and I finally got to say my proper goodbye. She cried… and I tried not to… and she told me she would be waiting for me. She was always a stubborn one, your mother. Every other witch had given up on catching me, but not her. She knows how to have it her way. She’ll be there… and I miss her so.”  
  
My father is a proper Malfoy, and I had never before seen him so undone. I think he must have realised how completely beside himself he was because he buried his face in his hands and stayed that way for a while, reminiscing and trying to pull himself together.  
  
I could not find the words to describe the bone-deep feeling of exhausted joy flooding me when I saw him so… released, so free. It was only when the image began to get fuzzy around the edges and the exhaustion turned leaden that I realised something wasn’t quite right.  
  
I think I must have made some kind of noise, because he looked up instantly, and his eyes went wide.  
  
“Merlin, Scorpius… are you all right, son?! There’s blood coming out of your nose… and your ears, oh, gods, please, no…”, but it was coming from a distance, and everything went black once again.  
  
When I came to, I was lying in my own bed with the pillows mounted up underneath me to give my head support, and my father’s fingers were tightly wrapped around my hands. As soon as I opened my eyes, the first sight that met me was a worried face of my father, but even for his sake, I could not keep my eyes open for long – my eyelids were simply too heavy.  
  
“Scorpius!” he called me immediately, anxiously, as if he wanted to make sure his eyes didn’t deceive him.  
  
“Father… I can’t see _them_ anymore… Yours are gone, Father.”  
  
It was all I managed. After that, the tiredness was too much, and I succumbed to blackness once again.  
  
I ended up sleeping for two days. Two days that must have been endless for my father. The house-elves told me that he hardly ever left my bedside, and never stayed away longer than half an hour. His face simply lit up at the sight of my eyes fluttering open, and though I was still rather tired, I decided that the look in his eyes made it worth keeping myself awake.  
  
“Welcome back,” he said, and I could see that there was a new line testifying of bitterness cut close near his mouth. He must have worried so…  
  
“How are you?” he wanted to know, and I told him the first thing I could think of:  
  
“Hungry.”  
  
For some reason, my word – a single one! – made him flash a smile that wiped ten years off his face.  
  
“Don’t go anywhere,” he warned me. “I’ll have the house-elves fetch you something. And then, young man, we’re going to have to talk.”  
  
He silently watched me devour my food a few minutes later, and after he saw my appetite restored, his tense shoulders finally sagged in relief. He waited politely until I finished, and only when he saw me push the tray away did he decide I was fit enough to hold a conversation.  
  
“It was quite a shock you gave me, son,” he started carefully. “What made you think you could try something like this and succeed?”  
  
“Mother,” I told him. “She told me there was only one way. I needed to connect you to the world beyond, and… I don’t know how, really, but I just felt that I could, if I focused enough. I passed out as soon as I did, but it worked, didn’t it?”  
  
“It did,” he confirmed yet again. “I wonder… Did your mother’s… echo, happen to mention any consequences to you, should you decide to do this?”  
  
“I don’t think she imagined there would be any,” I said sheepishly, because even I, at age 11, knew that it was definitely not a good thing to have blood coming out of your ears.  
  
“I want you to promise me something, Scorpius,” he said looking straight at me, suddenly appearing dead serious. “I want you to promise me to never, _ever_ do this again. Not under any circumstances, and for no one. It’s too great a price to pay. I had you checked for all possible damage while you were asleep, and there seems to be no lasting harm done – but you cannot ever risk it again. I don’t think I would survive if I were to lose you as well. There’s no one left but us, Scorpius, and it would effectively be the end of the Malfoy line. So, please – I want your promise that you’ll never do it again.”  
  
“But Father… I could help people,” I told him quietly, and I saw just a flicker or shame and regret before his face froze solid.  
  
“No one is more important than you… no one. I won’t have you risk your own well-being, perhaps even your life, for someone else’s benefit. I forbid it. It’s best not to mention your gift to anyone; there will always be those who will attempt to exploit it. You don’t know what the world is like out there, especially for us, the Malfoys. I’m afraid I must insist. I need your promise, son. I swear, you’re not leaving for Hogwarts until I hear you say the words.”  
  
So I promised; what else could I have done? And I made myself a target, with no way to explain to anyone what it is that makes me so odd. And in this school… it’s crowded and there’s so many of _them_. You’d be surprised to know how many people’s nightmares relate to other people – not spiders, not the Dementors or other horrors, but people. Often, people who should love them. Some, like Goyle, are made evil by the echo of their fears. And some need help really badly. It just makes me so bloody tired and frustrated, not being able to tell… to share any of myself with the world… to help. I realise I barely appear better than a savant to some, but… Hugo, I really don’t know what to do. I’m trapped. Trapped in my head, trapped in my miserable existence, and sometimes I just want to get out.”

*

“You mustn’t!”  
  
_It’s the first thing I say, because I must admit that I’m deeply distressed and moved by his story. He’s barely over sixteen – and he’s already been through so much! His hands are firmly resting in mine, and that’s the only comfort we both have at the moment. I suppose being so skilled in empathy has its side effects. I know that I should work on separating empathy from sympathy – I did a bit of reading while I was stuck in the library for all those hours, yeah? – but… I can’t really. Not in his case. I’m almost as sad and exhausted as he is – and we really don’t need this. One of us has to move things along, and I have to get out of his frame of mind quickly, or I’ll soon be as lost as he is.  
  
“You mustn’t… you can’t think of that, Scorpius,” I tell him, and I look him straight in those magical silver eyes. “You can’t. Because I need you.”  
  
I have no idea how he would react if I tried to kiss him, and I don’t want to break the fragile bond between us, so I bring his hands to my mouth instead, and I kiss his knuckles as gently as I can. He makes a sound, something between a gasp and a mewl; and when I look into his eyes next, they’re alight and focused on me – and this time, I can read him. I kiss him on the lips, slowly, with all the tenderness I feel for him, and they’re incredibly soft and luscious… and – oh, Merlin – responsive, wonderfully responsive. As if wants this as much as I do… almost as if he was waiting.  
  
Godric and Rowena… I’ve snogged a bit, yeah? But nothing like this. Discovering his mouth, sensually exchanging not just the touch of tender flesh, but the unspeakable emotion between us… oh… I love this… I love how his breathing slowly becomes faster and excited, how he makes that small sound of delight and surrender… and then another… I love it. I love him._  
  
*  
  
Merlin, I’ve never… not like this. I just gave in to him… like it was something I was born to do. How did this… oh, never mind… I don’t think I can stop. I’m completely under his spell. And I want more. My heart is hammering in my chest, and it feels as if it’s expanding and filling me up with emotions… and feelings… and sensations I never felt before, and they’re almost threatening to smother me. His mouth is the sweetest thing ever… so much warmth, and tenderness… And it’s spreading that slow burning fire down my body that I don’t know how to put out… I don’t think I want to. I wish I wasn’t so bloody inexperienced. I wish I could give him what he surely expects… but I don’t know how… and I don’t know if it’s enough.  
  
He stops slowly, and I realise I must have closed my eyes because I open them now to see why, if it’s because of something I’ve done. But he smiles with his lips still on mine, and whispers into another slow, sensual kiss:  
  
“I feel you, Scorpius Malfoy. I feel how scared and excited you are. We will take this really slow… just as slow as you want it. We’ll learn from each other and reach a little farther every time, until we’re ready, all right? Because I’m here to stay… if you want me. I’m here. And I’m yours.”  
  
I hug him fiercely at these words. Just… put my arms around him, bury my face in that wonderfully scented fiery hair, and hold tight. I think I might even be too rough. But he doesn’t seem to mind. It’s just that… I never had anyone of my own, no one I could hold like this. And he’s strong, and wonderfully warm, and he knows all my secrets. And he doesn’t let go. I never knew holding on to another person would give me such comfort. But he’s not just anyone. He’s Hugo Weasley, and he fears no one.  
  
“You’ve got none… none of _them_ ,” I whisper into his ear. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? You’ve got no fears, Hugo… how can that be?”  
  
“I might have one from now on,” he murmurs softly in my ear. “I might be afraid of losing you.”  
  
My eyes are instantly full of tears.  
  
“That’s one fear I can chase away,” I whisper, and I kiss him. I kiss him with trembling lips and on my own, and I cannot imagine ever staying away from him. He smells… tastes… feels divine. He lets me lead the way, as far as I want to, as fast as I’m willing to go, and it’s an incredible feeling to be so in control. I stop for a moment, just to get a chance to see my reflection at the bottom of those blue eyes, and a smile crawls onto his lips when he says:  
  
“Admiring yourself, Malfoy?”  
  
“Oh, be quiet,” I murmur, because he caught me _in flagrante_ , but he only chuckles, and I swear he’s got the most beautiful laughter in this world. I lean down to get a taste of it, kiss it off that soft, inviting mouth, and the next thing I know, our kissing morphs from a gentle exploration to something far more needy and urgent.  
  
“Bloody hell, Scorpius,” he pants into my mouth. “You’re a fast learner.”  
  
And I can’t even respond. I don’t know what to say, how to tell him, that I want more. I want his hands on me, both of them, and I want to _feel_ him… everywhere.  
  
“Right,” he murmurs as if I gave him a command, and his fingers slide into my dress robes. Their warmth seems to be burning through the thin, silken shirt under my vest. My breath hitches as he kisses me right on that sensitive spot beneath the ear, and when his fingers get tangled in my shirt, he whispers:  
  
“Would you like me to take that off?”  
  
“Yes… yes, please,” I barely manage, and he hums softly into my ear and continues to caress my neck some more. It drives me all kinds of crazy when I feel his fingers fumble with the tiny buttons, and by the time he’s done with the last one, I’m wound up so tight with excitement I can barely breathe.  
  
But he stops and continues to kiss my breath away instead.  
  
“Tell me if… and when… you want more, love,” he whispers, before his slick, soft tongue brushes across the inside of my mouth and finds its eager playing partner. And I moan _“yes… now…”_ as soon as our tongues touch. I can’t help myself. He makes the fire of need and sweet expectation spread all over my skin by that gentle tongue-play alone, and I… I desperately need more. That’s all I can think of.  
  
Those adept, long fingers slide across the silk fabric, leaving a trail of desire behind, and when they brush over one of my nipples, I gasp just as he moans in my ear:  
  
“Merlin… you’re so bloody fit… and I just want to eat the lovely scent of your skin… You smell of desire, Scorpius Malfoy, and it’s driving me wild.”  
  
I think what little mind I had is inevitably lost after that. I have a vague memory of knocking him backwards, and he laughs with that golden, warm laughter he has and pulls me on top. His strong hands close around my arse, and he just knows he no longer needs to ask permission. He’s got such endless legs, and he pulls me up his body, and… and… ohhhhh…  
  
*  
  
_Merlinfuck, Jesus… he’s so deliciously hard and needy. Let no one say there’s no passion in Scorpius Malfoy. As soon as his crotch rubs against mine, and I feel the hot, swollen bulge seeking release, he gasps, moans and whimpers all in one… and it’s just the hottest, most mind-melting thing ever. Goddamn, Scorpius… He immediately does it again… and again and again… grinding our hips together, and I think my cock is going to explode just from watching him do that.  
  
He leans down, looking for my mouth hungrily, and the expression on his face is to die for.  
  
“Hugo…”  
  
He breathes my name like it’s precious, and I close my eyes and will myself not to come, not just yet. It might scare him, and I can’t have that. But I can’t hold on for much longer either; I’m a teenage boy, for Merlin’s sake... I don’t think I’ve ever been so hard and desperate to come in my life.  
  
“Hugo… look at me,” he begs quietly, and I can’t resist the pleading in his voice. I open my eyes and he gasps:  
  
“Yesss… I… I love your eyes… so blue… I love the way you look at me…. the way you see me… And you make me feel so good… so good, Hugo…”  
  
“I don’t think… I can hold back… for much longer, Scorpius,” I pant, because it is indeed so incredibly good, so bloody brilliant, that my eyes are rolling into the back of my head, and I can no longer stop the hot tide pooling at the base of my cock, building impossible pressure.  
  
He buries his face into my hair, fondles my neck and whispers in my ear with warm breath.  
  
“You think… I could touch it?”  
  
“Ohgodpleaseyes…”_  
  
*  
  
I don’t even know what I’m doing. For the first time in my life, my mind is running wild, and I’ve got no control of my actions. I’ve touched… mine, of course… But it was always awkward, unsettling, and messy, and I did it because I had to, or I would have had to stay in my bed for too long in the morning, or risk embarrassing myself. But with him… I can’t resist. There’s nothing else I can think of.  
  
Because I feel the hot life surging underneath me every time our painfully strained hard-ons brush against each other in this wild dance of seduction and desire, and he tries to choke back those little sounds of excitement not to betray how much he wants it… I don’t know to what purpose; perhaps to show me I’m in charge? But I’m not, not really. I can’t tell him that, but… I can’t stop any longer. I want to touch him… run my fingers up and down his length… feel him… feel the juices pound against the sensitive skin, and see him… god, I want to see him. And I know I’m going to have to share some of me to make it perfect.  
  
I’m so impossibly nervous that my fingers seem to get it all wrong when I try to open my own trousers first, but he realises what I’m trying to do, and he whispers:  
  
“Allow me… please?”  
  
I nod, with my heart hammering in my throat and my vision swimming, but as soon as his long, warm, curious fingers find me, I’m lost. A sound escapes me, loud and so wanton it’s embarrassing, but his wonderful hand pauses just long enough to give me a chance to remember my intentions. And suddenly, this is urgent. I need to free him of his confines, I need to feel him, and I need to… I need to…  
  
“Hugo!” I gasp and I whimper at the same time because his fingers began moving again and this, his name, is the only thing still grounding me in this impossible swirl of sensations. I finally have _it_ in my hand… and its sheer weight and that velvety hardness take away whatever sanity and breath I was left with. I look into his eyes, those deep, blue eyes, and as I begin grinding our groins together, I let our fingers intertwine around the desperate, eager flesh…. And everything but the overwhelming sensation of sharing my bliss with this incredible boy disappears.  
  
*  
  
_JesusMerlinfuck, Scorpius… Oh, fucking god, he’s a natural… Those narrow, god-sexy hips riding into the tight tunnel of our joined hands like he wants it so bloody much he’s ready to take it… like he can’t get enough… And I want to make it good for him so much it hurts… Oh, Mother of God… He’s such an unbelievable, sublime sight… Those mystical silver orbs of his are half-lidded in ecstasy, shining like the bewitched moonlight as they hold my eyes captive… and with every rhythmical, urgent movement of that divine arse, the charge of my need and tension becomes more unbearable. I feel my body arching for release as he’s chanting my name in breathless, broken words, time and time again, and that quiet, helpless worship winds up my craving for him tighter and tighter… until I can no longer hold back.  
  
I feel the surge of my come slamming up my shaft, and the only thing I have left to give him is a desperate cry of his name… because for me it’s all about him:  
  
“Scorpius… ohbloodyhell, Scorpius… beautiful… perfect…”  
  
And he only makes a sweet little sound of surrender, a desperate sob of my name, as he throws his head back and his cock floods the warm cage of our intertwined fingers. Merlin, he’s beautiful… Perhaps I’m just too smitten by the gorgeous bliss spreading through my body, rendering me limp and stupidly happy – but he’s… wow. I find him out of this world… enchanting, and completely irresistible. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the sight of Scorpius Malfoy coming undone._  
  
*  
  
I just… _came…_ fell apart with another boy… and god, it was… incredible. I think I must have blacked out for some time, and now I’m lying sprawled on top of him, exhausted, numb with the remnants of ecstasy flooding my every last nerve ending. I’m completely boneless. Merlin… The awkward morning fumbling with my own clumsy hand isn’t even in the same category! How come this is so much better? Perhaps because it’s him. He’s so… unbelievable… stunning… strong… protective… mine. All mine. His arm is already behind my back, keeping me together and safe from the world, and the feeling of belonging and comfort it brings along with it cannot be put into words. I’m so very happy and at peace I don’t ever want to move.  
  
I know it’s temporary… I know it cannot be. But for the moment I don’t want to think about the things that cannot be. In that moment, in Hugo’s arms, everything is possible. He makes it so. He nuzzles into my hair and presses a small kiss into it, purring enticingly:  
  
“Scorpius Malfoy, you’re a proper sex beast, let no one tell you otherwise…”  
  
I’m sure I blush deep pink – I’ve got such transparent skin! – and I whisper into the crook of his neck:  
  
“I loved it, too. I never knew I would… not so much.”  
  
His comforting hands slide down my back for a few long, silent moments, and then he asks quietly:  
  
“Do you trust me?”  
  
I nod quietly, without even lifting my head, because there’s no need – of course I trust him, I just did things with him that make me blush at the very thought… I could never… unless I trusted him implicitly.  
  
“Would you let me talk to your father, then?” he ask quietly, and this time my head just shoots up. I shake it instantly, dead certain and terrified, because this can never be.  
  
“You can’t, Hugo,” I try to tell him, and my voice is nearly pleading. “He won’t change his mind, and he just might be furious because…”  
  
I stop abruptly. I don’t know how to tell him my father might be furious because of us, because he’s a boy and a Weasley… and because I told him what I promised to keep a secret.  
  
“Please don’t!” I beg him, because I desperately want to protect what we have, the fragile equilibrium that brought me so much peace and priceless closeness I didn’t even know I was craving.  
  
“Scorpius,” he says gently. “We can’t let things stay the way they are. They’ll get to you one day and injure you beyond repair unless they see you for who you are – witness what you can do. It would only take once, one demonstration, one person… and you could establish yourself as a new man, who would be appreciated, and not chastised for his incredible gift. Please, love… at least consider it. I’d never forgive myself if I lost you.”  
  
“You don’t understand!” I try to tell him feverishly. “I’d have to tell Father why, I’d have to share how awful everyone was to make me do this, and I never told him… Please don’t make me do this… don’t, Hugo. I can’t bear to see him broken.”  
  
“But we have to do something!” he explodes with all his Weasley temper. “We can’t just wait around until they corner you and hurt you! Goyle is borderline dangerous – and as unpredictable as he is stupid. There’s only one other way, then: you have to break the word you gave to your father… and just do it.”  
  
My first impulse is to deny him. To shake my head and tell him I won’t. Threaten to go back to my quiet ways if he disregards me. Only… I can’t. Because he’s right. Something has to be done. It’s time.  
  
*  
  
_Oh, Merlin, why am I such an idiot?! Why, oh, why did I promise not to influence him, when I really need him to change his mind right now?! But I can’t go back on my promise. He’d eventually figure it out, and he’d never forgive me. I can’t risk it... I can’t. So we’re back to persuasion the old-fashioned way, with arguments and all that rot. Merlin, that’s frustrating! But it’s the only way. Let’s see what I can come up with.  
  
But just as I open my mouth, he speaks unexpectedly:  
  
“I’ll do it. On one condition: Father must never know how it happened. He doesn’t understand the implications of what he made me promise, you see – and he’d be deeply disappointed in me on going back on my word. But you’re right. I can’t go on like this. And promise me you’ll think of something in case he does find out. Or I won’t do it.”  
  
I’m so stupidly happy and relieved right now that I’d promise him the moon if he asked for it, and I would have done my best to deliver.  
  
“I promise,” I tell him fiercely. “I’ll do my best to make sure your father never finds out. And if he does... I’ll tell him that I made you,” I decide, and his eyes go wide.  
  
“No! He’d hurt you! I don’t want you to – ” he tries to tell me in an uncertain voice, but I’ve already made up my mind, and I won’t even let him finish.  
  
“I’d never make you suffer for one of my ideas, Scorpius. The truth is, I’m quite good at this... manipulation thing, and I can demonstrate for your father should he ask it of me. And saying I made you do it wouldn’t even be lying. You wouldn’t even consider doing it without me.”  
  
“No... I wouldn’t,” he finally agrees reluctantly, and then he looks at me with those sparkling-silver eyes of his.  
  
“So how do we do this?”  
  
“Let me handle it,” I tell him, because I know if I let him in on the details of the plan, forming in my mind, he’ll kill himself with anxiety. “I’ll let you know in time. I’ll be with you the whole time anyway, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you on your own. And the person you can try to help... I know just the man for the job.”_  
  
*  
  
Merlin, he can’t seriously consider me doing it here! Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes is packed to the rafters with Hogwarts students, making the best of their pass to visit Hogsmeade and stocking up on the wonderful, devious products to prank their families with during the Christmas holidays.  
  
But he’s holding my hand firmly, and I know this is it. I should have known he’d pick a crowded place. It makes sense, really. Only... there’s so many of _them_ here, and I don’t know if I can focus on... whoever it is that I should focus on. And it doesn’t help that I’m so bloody anxious that I’m practically nauseous. Can I even do this? Can I help this person? It’s been years since I’ve done it for Father. Perhaps I won’t know how anymore. I’m not sure how I’d even done it back then – I just _knew_ I could at some point, and the rest came naturally. What if the feeling doesn’t come? I’m going to be a bigger lunatic than ever before, and not even holding hands with Hugo Weasley is going to stop me from being ridiculed! Oh, Merlin... why did I ever agree to it?  
  
But I know exactly why. Because these last couple of days with Hugo have been the happiest in my life. We hold hands whenever we can, and he often pops up behind me unexpectedly, and puts his arms around me like a proper proprietary Weasley. It makes me ridiculously over the moon to have him near. I just close my eyes when he hugs me and inhale his scent. We haven’t... _done_ anything, not since the evening of the Yule ball, but I find myself dreaming of it and wanting it more and more often. I... fantasise about it. Oh, god, this is mortifying... but I keep daydreaming of _more_. I can’t imagine not having him around anymore. I can’t imagine going back to solitude... and fear. With him around, I’ve got nothing to fear. But I want to be strong for him... I want to have nothing to fear, even when I’m on my own.  
  
Goyle and his cronies have been staying away for now – but the Slytherin idiot has been throwing his most murderous looks at me, and I know it won’t be for good. Surrounded by his mates from hell, he already tried chanting: _“Poof, poof, poof!”_ when I passed by yesterday, but he was caught by McGonagall by a pure stroke of luck – and I don’t think I’d ever heard the Headmistress shout so loud. Goyle went positively green when she mentioned writing his father. But I won’t be so lucky every time – and I need to sort this out. I have to at least try.  
  
So I squeeze Hugo’s warm fingers tightly, and I close my eyes. I have to be stronger than I feel.  
  
“Ready?” he asks gently, and I exhale. Ready as I’ll ever be.  
  
*  
  
_I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so brave. Seriously. He’s right up there with Uncle Harry. I can see how very on edge he is – nearly hysterical with fright – yet he’s going to do it all the same – and right now, I’m the one who wants to quit. Suddenly, it feels so risky... What if it doesn’t work? Or worse – what if he does, and he gets harmed in the process?_ JesusMerlin... _I don’t even want to think it! I want to quit so badly my skin is itching – but, I know we’re never going to get a chance like this again – so I won’t. But it feels as if I’ve never done anything so hazardous in my life. Blowing up Filch’s quarters loaded full of Dung-bombs – purely by accident, I swear! – seems like nothing in comparison. But there’s nothing for it now. We have to get through with it.  
  
I drag him by the hand towards the counter, pushing away anyone in my way until we reach the counter, and we’re finally standing in front of our target.  
  
“Hello, Uncle George. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Scorpius Malfoy. I believe... he might have a message for you.”  
  
*  
  
_ At first, I don’t even understand what I’m looking at. Is that man tormented by himself? There is a shadow of the stocky, redheaded man in front of me standing right next to the real flesh-and-bone person... and they’re exactly alike. And then I notice the ear. The shop owner – addressed as Uncle George – is missing one. But the apparition next to him has both... and the more I focus, the more details come to my attention. __He’s_ _ covered in dust. And he’s younger than the shop owner... years younger. And injured. And angry.  
  
“Finally!” he hisses at me. “For fuck’s sake, finally! You can see me, right?”  
  
I nod, and the relief on his face makes my heart squeeze in my chest.  
  
“I don’t know who you are, though,” I tell him, and he laughs, shortly and tiredly, and a bit of dust seems to come out of his chest when he does.  
  
“I’m this idiot’s brother,” he points at George Weasley. “The name is Fred. Fred Weasley. I think... I think I’m dead. Though... sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” he says, suddenly thoughtful.  
  
“Only one way to find out,” I tell him. I look at the shop owner, looking between me and Hugo as if he’s not entirely certain this is not going to turn into a prank, and I ask him.  
  
“Do you have a brother?”  
  
“I’ve got five!” he smirks, and then his expression suddenly changes and he instantly looks lost.  
  
“Four. I’ve got four,” he corrects himself, and he goes strangely still. “What of it?” he finally wants to know, looking alert and suspicious. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes suddenly goes uncommonly quiet. But I don’t mind it anymore. My mind is clearer than it has been in ages and almost __sharp_._ I haven’t felt so focused in eons.  
  
“I’m sorry. I should have been more clear. Do you... did you have a twin brother? Fred. He says his name is Fred. He wants to know if he’s dead.”  
  
He goes ash-grey in an instant.  
  
“What kind of a sick joke is this?” he chokes out. “Hugo, if this is your idea of a joke, it’s gone too far.”  
  
But Hugo, visibly shaken, only shakes his head, as if he knows that this is not his game, and for once, I feel no reservations taking over.  
  
“Not a joke. He’s standing right next to you. He looks as if he’s been there for ages. He appears to be dead... he’s covered in dust, but he’s got both ears and... he looks younger than you.”  
  
“You’re lying,” George whispers, and there’s a terrible tremor to his voice. “There’s no one... I would have known... I’ve looked so many times...”  
  
I look at Fred, and I tell him honestly: “I won’t be able to do this without you. If you want to speak to your brother, you have to help me persuade him it’s really you standing here.”  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he explodes and utters a few juicy curses that unhinge my jaw a little. They’re... innovative… especially for a dead person! “Tell him this, then...”  
  
I look at George again, and I repeat what his brother tells me word by word.  
  
“He says his name is Fred Fabian Weasley... and says it’s a bloody stupid name. He set off the Dungbomb under the chair of your great-aunt Muriel once, and he wants to know if the old hag is still alive – and if she at least left you anything, if she isn’t. You two left another Dungbomb in the tomb of Tutankhamen when you visited Egypt with your family.”  
  
“Freddie...”  
  
George wheezes that word out as if a tortured soul filled to the brim with emotion finally burst, and an echo of utter despair escaped.  
  
I look at Fred, unsure if I should continue, but he presses his mouth together stubbornly, and barks roughly:  
  
“Go on! Tell him the rest!”  
  
“He’s very rude...” I try to warn George, but he unexpectedly grabs me by the lapels of my coat, and spells it out for me, hissing through his teeth:  
  
“I don’t give a fuck. I want to hear every word, you hear me?! __Every.single.word!_ _ If this is my brother, my Fred... if it’s indeed him... I’ve been trying for so long... I thought I could feel him near sometimes, but then I’d look around and there was nothing... Every word, boy! Or I swear...”  
  
His voice breaks as he’s heaving and hopelessly trying to hold back a flood of unspeakable emotions. I look at Hugo’s half-drawn wand, and I shake my head discreetly. I’ve got this. His intervention won’t be necessary.  
  
“Every word,” I promise the broken man in front of me, and he finally lets go of me. Here goes nothing…  
  
“This is what he says, word for word: ‘ _ _Tell my idiot of a brother it’s not my fault he’s too bloody thick to see me! And tell him to stop being such a dreadful bore all the time! Crack a joke or two,’_ _ he says, __‘play a prank, like we used to, Georgie. Don’t be such a cry-baby.’_ _ And he says... _”  
  
_ I pause, because it’s like the floodgate has opened, and George Weasley wails like a wounded animal. He buries his face in his hands, and in the next moment he’s sobbing uncontrollably. I see the compassion on Hugo’s face a second before he jumps over the counter, immediately hugging his uncle across the shoulders protectively, and I realise he must feel his pain acutely. Empathic or not, Uncle George is his favourite. And George clings onto him as if he’s drowning.  
  
“I miss him so bloody much...” he stutters through his tears, and I look at his twin, who just sighs deeply and seems to wipe his eyes. I hardly ever see one of __them_ _ cry. Then he begins to talk, and can barely follow the cascade of words he’s been saving for his brother all these years.  
  
“Well... that’s just the thing,” I tell George as gently as I can. “He says it’s time to stop missing him, because he’s right here. He’s standing right next to you, he can hear every word – and he says you should know better than to think he’d ever leave you. It’s still the two of you. It will always be the two of you, in this world and the other. He said to just pretend he took a potion and he's invisible. And...”  
  
I stop because I’m uncomfortable. George Weasley is staring at me as if I just grew another head. He still has tears running down his cheeks, but he no longer takes any notice of them. His eyes are literally glued onto my mouth, as if he doesn’t want to risk missing out on a single word. I have to do this. I have to pull through this.  
  
“And he says if you could, please stop crying so bloody much, because, unlike you, he's got both ears, and they're hurting from all the bawling. And also, that you're giving someone called Moaning Myrtle a run for her money. He says that just because you're a few minutes younger, you shouldn't be such a big baby about dying, it’s not like it hurts – though it gets a bit boring from time to time, because you’re such a bloody bore these days... __you big freckled dolt_. _ His words, not mine. I told you... he's rude." _  
  
_ George puts a hand over his mouth, and his fingers are shaking terribly. The big brown eyes looking at me from above the palm of his hand are in awe – the eyes of a terribly tormented man who finally lived to experience some relief.  
  
“Where were you all these years, lad?!” he wants to know in a trembling, muffled voice. “Why now? Why only now? I’ve been breathing on empty for so long...”  
  
And frankly, I’m ashamed. His pain is humbling... and for once, Father was wrong. If I can help, I should. There has to be a reason for this curse I was born with... or perhaps it’s a gift after all? I see it as such for the first time.  
  
“There’s more,” I tell him instead of replying to his questions. “But it’s very private.”  
  
I don’t want to tell him in front of all these people about how happy Fred is that he’s got a nephew named after him... and I’m even less inclined to repeat his words about George marrying his old girlfriend because they make me blush. So I look George straight in the eye, feeling the power to do this surge through me, charging me, and I ask:  
  
“Would you like to hear it yourself?”  
  
“Can you...?”  
  
His voice is nearly ill with childlike hope... so I nod, and I do it.  
  
The second my fingers wrap around his wrists, it all goes black again.  
  
*  
  
_Fuck, shit,_ fuck!! _Scorpius Malfoy, please wake up..._ please _. _You have to, babe, you have to. Heaven, please... Just this one more miracle... just this one.  
  
Uncle George is already conscious, though limp as a rag doll, laughing and crying and babbling something about all the fun they’re going to have from now on... but Scorpius is still out of it. I managed to slow down his fall, and I intercepted him before he hit the ground, but he hasn’t moved since, and he’s as pale as a gravestone. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on top of his upper lip, and a single stream of blood coming out of his nose. I check his ears. Merlin be thanked, at least there’s no blood coming out of them.  
  
As soon as it happened, the dead-still shop turned into a bloody hellhole. They’re all chattering excitedly over each other, and the cacophony of voices is maddening. I had to hex a few of them to stay away and give Scorpius room to breathe. Then somehow, Uncle George crawls closer, not yet walking, and grabs the immobile body in my arms by the shoulder. And my Scorpius, my brave wonderful boyfriend, startles to life. Merlin…  
  
I can’t utter a single sound, or I’ll bawl my eyes out, but I have him cradled in my lap, and I can’t stop kissing him all over his face. His cheeks are wet from my tears, and he smiles tiredly.  
  
“Hey...” he says slowly, nearly slurring. “Did it work?”  
  
“It worked,” George answers instead of me, and I can’t even begin to untangle the web of emotions, intertwined in his heavy voice. “It bloody worked, boy. Scorpius, you said? You must be Malfoy’s child. Your father was a prat, but_ _ you _... _you are a gift. If there’s anything, anything you want, anything you need, anything I can do for you... remember, you just need to find George Weasley. I’m your man, lad. Anything,” he promises feverishly, and after a small pause, adds in a shaky, barely audible whisper: “You don’t even know what you’ve done. I... we can’t thank you enough.”  
  
“You need to thank Hugo here. I wouldn’t have done it without him,” he looks up into my eyes, and the reverent expression on his face leaves me breathless. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to have earned such devotion, but it’s completely heart-melting, and I just might start bawling all over again._  
  
_ “Hugo Weasley!” _  
  
_The shrill, stern voice comes from the edge of the crowd. Shit. McGonagall. What on Earth - ? What is she even doing here?!  
  
“Please tell me, young man, that this..._ _ madness __is not your doing! Even you can’t be...__ insane __enough to risk your fellow student’s life for a dangerous experiment like this?! Have you got__ any __idea what would happen if it went awry?! You might be considered a_ _ murderer _ _, Mr. Weasley... at fifteen! A student of my school! I’m afraid this time you’ve gone too far. You leave me no choice but to consider ex-...”  
  
__ “Don’t you dare!” _ _  
  
Merlin! I nearly jumped to the bloody ceiling! Scorpius, love... Now,_ that _is some voice! Anger and some sort of... haughtiness just roll off it!  
  
“Don’t you __ dare __expel him, don’t you even__ think __it! If it wasn’t for him, I’d still be afraid of those losers,” he waves dismissively in the direction of a bunch of gawping Slytherins as he tries to pull himself up on trembling legs. “And I’d be afraid of myself. Of what I can do. I’d run from it. Hide it. I’d never embrace it. Just like my father taught me. I’d spend my entire life living in fear. Well... no more. I’d be a victim for life if it wasn’t for Hugo! He made me believe in myself... and he made me help this man. Is that worth nothing in your book, then?! If you’re going to expel him, you’ll see me leave holding his hand. There are other wizarding schools in this world – but I always thought this one was the best one. Are you going to make me reconsider my opinion?”  
  
No one has_ _ ever __heard Scorpius Malfoy say that much. Ever. And McGonagall just stands there, rooted to the ground, unable to quite close her mouth.  
  
“Well...” she says after a long while. “Well. If you put it this way... Though I must warn you, Mr. Malfoy: you’re still under age... and I’m afraid I’m going to have to inform your father about the incident.”  
  
__ Shit _ _. Double shit on a stick. I give my beautiful blond boyfriend a sheepish, frightened sidelong glance, well aware that his worst fear just came to life – but apart from still looking morbidly pale, Scorpius Malfoy doesn’t even wince.  
  
“I suppose it’s for the best,” he says at long last – and I can’t believe what I’m hearing! “He was going to hear it from one of them anyway,” he says in a resigned voice, glancing at the crowd, and finally adding in a bit sharper voice: “But make sure you report it the way it was: that this was my decision. No one else’s. __ Mine _. _”  
  
“Very well,” she says at last, and perhaps I’m only imagining things, but she sounds a bit... emotional? “And since this is settled, let me tell you, Mr. Malfoy – it’s a fine, __ fine  _ _thing you’ve done for Mr. George Weasley here. A fine thing, Mr. Malfoy. Some might even call it heroic.”  
  
“Funny you should say that. That’s what the man with a long beard near you called it,” Scorpius says calmly. “He says that calls for a sherbet lemon.”  
  
Bloody hell, Scorp! For a moment there I thought he might have killed the Headmistress! She certainly sways like a blade of grass in the wind, but she finally catches herself on her walking stick – she’s been using one for years now – and I can see the knuckles on her hand going white from the pressure she’s put onto it.  
  
“Mr. Malfoy! I am an __ old __woman! You can’t just... Oh, blast! Please, tell Professor Dumbledore, that he’s welcome to a refreshment in his... my office at any time,” she finishes stiffly, desperately holding on to the last of her dignity, but her eyes are flooded with tears. Bloody hell, indeed…  
  
She abruptly turns away to leave, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I shout after her:  
  
“What made you come here in the first place, Madam?”  
  
She turns around and looks at me sternly – and for once, I wish I’d kept my big mouth shut.  
  
“It’s not like you’re not welcome...” I murmur, sensing that she hasn’t forgiven me quite yet. “But you don’t seem the type...”  
  
You know what? I should consider shutting up from time to time. While I’m still ahead, that is. Fuck you, Dad, why did I have to inherit my big, rash mouth from you!?  
  
“Indeed I am not... __ the type _ _, Mr. Weasley. Whatever the type is, since practically every resident of Hogwarts seems to be in this place,” she throws a knowing glance in the direction of Professor Flitwick, who unsuccessfully tries to hide behind a stack of Vomiton candies. “But since you asked... I happened to notice a certain... pack of students, whom I have every reason to suspect of malicious intentions, following you and Mr. Malfoy into the shop. And since I heartily loathe cowards striking from behind, I decided it would be a good idea to perhaps... even the balance of forces for once.”  
  
If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say she looks smug. Quite the opposite of Goyle and his baboons, who look crushed, frightened, and quite robbed of their usual bullying attitude. Zabini discreetly tries to back off and put some distance between himself and a sad pack of Slytherins, but he has the bad fortune of bumping into Rose, who promptly sends him flying across the floor straight at Goyle’s feet – and smiles angelically. My sister totally rocks, have I said that lately?  
  
“Thank you,” Scorpius says unexpectedly. “But I don’t think they’re going to bother me from now on. Unless they wish to discuss what __ they __fear in front of an audience.”  
  
He’s looking just a bit to the side of Goyle, as if he’s communicating with someone – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone go green faster than Goyle.  
  
“Don’t you dare...” he says in a shaky voice, and my wicked, wonderful boyfriend finally looks straight at him.  
  
“I won’t if you won’t,” he says quietly, and Goyle swallows, as if choking on his defeat, before he abruptly turns and practically flees the shop. __ Handled.like.a.boss _, _Scorpius Malfoy. Merlin, that just turned me on. Get your lovely arse ready, sweetheart. It’s totally getting some tonight!__

_*_

I should have known father would be livid, of course. But perhaps I still could not have imagined just __how_ l_ ivid. Who would have guessed he’d be livid enough to come to Hogwarts directly after he received an owl from the Headmistress McGonagall?! I suppose Howlers aren’t really his thing… which cannot be said of Hugo’s parents – they sent one each as soon as they were informed. Hermione Granger Weasley was mostly concerned with __“endangering a fellow student”_ , _while Ron Weasley’s howling primarily had to do with having to invite __“that ferret”_ _ – this, oddly enough, seemed to refer to my father – over for family holidays from now on, and __“… damn those bloody pure-blood customs!”_  
  
_ But Hugo being Hugo, he just shrugged the first one off, and I saw his face break into a devilish smile upon hearing the second one, happily commenting: __“This should be fun!”_  
  
_ That boyfriend of mine… seriously. No shame whatsoever.  
  
My father might not be nowhere near as dramatic as Hugo’s parents; however, I expect him to be no less upset. I must confess that I’m left with a big knot in my throat when McGonagall calls me to her office… and I’m enormously relieved when after a short pause she adds:  
  
“And you can come as well, Mr. Weasley. We might need your… talents.”  
  
Because, you see, even she knows that for me, everything is easier with Hugo around. His presence in my life… it makes me feel as if I could fly. I honestly can’t remember __ever_ _ being so impossibly, unabashedly happy. Sometimes I feel as if a heavy, soaked shroud I was cocooned in has lifted, and now I can breathe in life deeply, fully, and spread my wings.  
  
We walked out of the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes holding hands that day, and we both sneaked out of our respective bedrooms to spend a night together. __The most wonderful night in my life._ _ Well, to date anyway. And no one, and I mean __no one_ , _not even Rose, gave me a hard time as to my whereabouts, and why I practically stumbled down to the Great Hall to catch the very last five minutes of breakfast, no books in sight, my hair tousled disastrously, my neck covered in hickeys, and my pathetic self generally looking as if I just participated in one of Hugo’s crazier experiments. Actually, I might have... but strictly as a volunteer. And they left a big smile on my lips.  
  
That’s all I’m willing to say. More might not be proper for a gentleman. Nor appropriate. __Khm._ _ This is Hugo Weasley we’re talking about after all, and he’s… crazy in every way and… oh, god, help me – totally delicious. There. No more.  
  
But it is this same crazy, wonderful person I draw my strength from when we climb the stairs to McGonagall’s office. He stops right before we enter and places a soft, chaste kiss just next to my ear. It is as decent as it gets, yet it still sends a memory of pleasures to be had rippling through my body, and right at that moment, I would move mountains to still be with him.  
  
“I’m truly sorry, love…” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t be in this shit if it wasn’t for me.”  
  
But I won’t have any of it.  
  
“Oh, shush, you,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be anywhere without you, you know that. Least of all as happy as I am.”  
  
And __that_ _ smile, you see – that radiant, you-are-my-world, blissful smile is why I walk into McGonagall’s office a moment later grinning goofily and still holding hands with my knock-out gorgeous boyfriend. But I slowly come to a halt when I find myself in front of my frozen, stern father, looking as if he just ate an icy blizzard. I can clearly see the shock on his face at the sight of Hugo… and then he just freezes at the sight of our coupled hands. _  
  
“ _What…_ _ is the meaning of this _… _travesty_?!”_ he finally hisses through his teeth, and for once, he looks truly menacing. “I could barely believe it when I was informed you put yourself in danger with some dreadful experiment – but holding hands with a Weasley certainly explains a lot!”  
  
“Father,” I say in a shaky voice, because even I, equipped with the poorest set of social skills known to man, understand that he must truly be upset. “This is Hugo Weasley. He’s… well… I suppose… oh, blast: he’s my boyfriend.”  
  
I feel Hugo’s comforting squeeze of my fingers the moment before my father explodes, and that single, warm gesture helps me get through what follows.  
  
“Your __boyfriend_?! _ A Weasley?! You’re barely sixteen… and he must be even younger! He isn’t your anything; not at this age, not yet! Not ever, hopefully. Have you gone mad, the pair of you?! What are you even thinking, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy?! How does this blasphemous school even allow such nonsense?! I’ll have you come home with me __this instant_ , _young man, and we will consider completing your education else– ”  
  
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Malfoy! A tad early, are you?”  
  
McGonagall sounds cool and clear like a glass of chilled old whiskey, and I’m ridiculously grateful for her intervention. There were already tears pooling in my eyes because… well, because I’m not used to being at odds with my father, you see. I hate to see him so distraught; he suffered enough because of me! And when I chance a look at Hugo, I gulp quietly, all of a sudden terribly agitated. There is cold rage on his face that makes me feel torn between the desire to protect my father and the desire to throw my arms around my boyfriend’s neck to take the edge off his dangerous wrath.  
  
But the arrival of Headmistress feels like a whiff of fresh breeze in a smoky room, clearing our heads a bit and both my… well, men, look a bit calmer.  
  
“Headmistress,” my father starts, still sounding agitated, though a tad more civilised and closer to his usual composed self. “I would very much like to get to the bottom of this. I was called here under what seems like a pretence…”  
  
“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall interrupts him and she looks very much indignant. “I certainly hope you are not insinuating that my information to you was in any way false? I take my job of informing the parents very seriously, I assure you!”  
  
Instantly, my father looks a bit lost for words and certainly embarrassed, almost like a schoolboy who was chastised for his unruly ways.  
  
“Well, of course not…” he murmurs next, and there’s a pink tinge to his cheeks. “I was merely questioning…”  
  
“I see… a misunderstanding then?” McGonagall suggests obligingly, and my father is very quick to nod. I think he might still be a tad mortified over letting himself go so spectacularly.  
  
“Very well, then,” McGonagall concludes, sounding content. “And since we obviously have a different understanding of the facts, I suggest we clear them up promptly. However, given the somewhat… delicate nature of the circumstances, I propose we do it behind a closed door and invite the two juniors to join us once I’ve explained the situation in sufficient detail.” _  
  
_ And Father once again nods obediently, as if he was still a mere student of Hogwarts, rather than a concerned parent. I must give it to McGonagall… she has a way of delivering her lines in a manner that makes all other ideas seem absurd.  
  
“I will have to ask you to leave us, boys, and wait for us on the staircase. I’m certain we won’t be long, so there is no need to go far,” the Headmistress dismisses Hugo and I swiftly, and I don’t think either of us is particularly sad to be released, if only temporarily.  
  
When we find ourselves in front of the closed door again, I give Hugo a shy, anxious look. Oh, blast… what am I to do?! First impressions are important, and I’m fairly certain that the one my father left behind is less than favourable. But Hugo doesn’t say anything for a while, and I feel my heart painfully squeeze in my chest. Merlin, we’re not going to be the victims of that pointless, ages-old Weasley-Malfoy feud, are we?!  
  
My hand slips to the middle of his chest, and my mouth moves in a whisper of the one thing I desperately need to know:  
  
“Can you feel me… can you feel my heart?” _  
  
_Please_ , _I want to add. Please tell me you can see past my surname. Please see __me__ , see what I feel for you. And then he looks at me and smiles that bright, sunshine smile, even if there’s a tinge of bitterness to it, and my chest gradually relaxes. We’re going to be all right.  
  
I hope.  
  
His hand finds its way onto the small of my back, and he pulls me closer, into his arms.  
  
We’ll be fine. Definitely.  
  
Oh, damn, I’m so relieved I nearly sob into his embrace. I wish I wasn’t so insecure about him, about us. I suppose I’ll always be terrible about reading people’s feelings, there’s no helping it. But it sometimes feels almost surreal that a beautiful creature like Hugo should love me and wants to be with me. I wake up in the morning and immediately think I’ve only been dreaming – until I make it downstairs and he’s there with his blissful smile and sparkling eyes and warm embrace. I’m afraid I’m dreadfully crazy about him… quite irreversibly so. There. I’ve said it. _  
  
_ He holds me for a while quietly, cradling me in his arms until I’m all better, and he knows just when that is.  
  
“Some father you’ve got there! No wonder my dad always calls him a prat,” he murmurs quietly into my ear as he nuzzles against my hair and presses a few scattered kisses into it.  
  
“He isn’t!” I say quickly, inexplicably compelled to defend my father, as hard as he had made it. “He’s not usually like this. He’s… I suppose he must be very shocked. Worrying always brings out the worst in him,” I try feebly as a last resort because I really don’t know what else to say.  
  
And, as if a response to my claim, there’s suddenly a fairly clear echo of McGonagall’s raised voice to be heard from the other side of the door.  
  
“Oh, please, Mr. Malfoy! You should be the one to talk safety and responsibility regarding your son! I dare say it was __your_ _ foolish decision to be dishonest with me and not give me the complete story behind your son’s… distinct behaviour that practically threw him all but defenceless at the feet of all the school bullies! Yes, __bullies_ ,_ Mr. Malfoy! Try as we might, Hogwarts still has its share of those, and I imagine you, of all people, still remember how easy it is for them to blend in and hide under their wealth, name, or exemplary school work!”  
  
Oh… well… darn. It looks like my father really stepped into it this time! It seems McGonagall fired all her weapons at him at once! But what she says next twists the knot in my stomach painfully.  
  
“Has your son not mentioned anything, then? None of his frequent stays at the Hospital Wing?”  
  
Oh… damn. Father was not meant to find out about those. Ever. I had nothing to fear anymore since my __eventful_ _ visit to the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes; why did the silly old witch think it was a good idea to bring it about after all this time?! I’m trying to remember if I told my father of any… incident, but I can’t recall a single one. I wish with all my heart to be able to look him in the eye right now and tell him not to worry about it, that it’s all over and none of it matters anymore.  
  
But things on the other side of the door have gone awfully quiet, and not seeing my father’s reaction makes me very anxious. I desperately want to know what’s going on – and my wonderful boyfriend must have sensed how on edge I am. He puts a finger on his mouth to warn me, and then mutters as spell I’ve never heard before. Suddenly, the door seems to become transparent, and he whispers quickly:  
  
“We need to be careful – they can’t tell from their side of the door that anything is wrong, but they could if we turned loud.”  
  
I nod obediently and plant a soundless kiss onto his cheek to thank him. Merlin… I’ll never understand how one boring little kiss from me can light up his face like this. I’m stupidly in love with his eyes when they’re sparkling this way…  
  
“Scorp… your Father,” he whispers, and I remember that I should be listening in. Oh, my, this love thing… terrible stuff, I’m telling you. I turn my attention to the door, and I’m startled to see my father sitting on the chair, his complexion ashen, and McGonagall passing him a glass of water.  
  
“Are you better, Mr. Malfoy? Draco?”  
  
“Yes, I… I suppose I’ll be fine,” my father replies slowly, sounding shaken. “It’s just that… I never knew about the Hospital Wing… Scorpius never told me… I swear he didn’t breathe a word! If he had, I would have… I would have…”  
  
His wand hand contracts, and I swallow a knot in my throat. The guilty, mortified expression on his face is too much to bear, and if it wasn’t for Hugo’s hand suddenly placed in the middle of my chest to hold me back, I would have rushed in and told him that it wasn’t his fault, that this was not something he could have prevented, that it was my choice to get my education at any cost.  
  
“Well, I’m happy to report, that Scorpius’s little demonstration of his gift on Mr. George Weasley – the one I duly reported to you in all necessary detail – had some wonderful side-effects for your son, as dangerous as it might have been,” McGonagall continues in a calm, assuring voice. “Your son, Mr. Malfoy, is no longer shunned and ridiculed. I believe he was a rather shy but proud recipient of very hearty applause when he walked into the Great Hall right after the incident. I confess myself being right in the lead of the clapping frenzy, matched perhaps only by the enthusiasm of his good friend Rose Weasley. And since we’re talking of Weasleys – I’m afraid we now come to the part of which I neglected to inform you in my letter: none of this would have come about if it wasn’t for a certain daring, brilliant – if occasionally lunatic – boy that goes under the name of Hugo Weasley.”  
  
At this point, my father’s face falls and gets that stubborn expression that makes me sigh: this was not going to go well. But when he tries to speak up, McGonagall lifts her hand in that authoritative, regal way she has and hurries: _  
  
_ “It might be in your interest to let me speak first, Mr. Malfoy. If you should still have any objections regarding Mr. Weasley’s role and his presence here today, I assure you, I will hear you out. You see – Mr. Hugo Weasley is quite a peculiar young man. He’s scarily brilliant, yet he cares nothing for his academic achievements, and prefers to apply his… talents, to more practical experiments that very often border on dangerous. I dare say he’s as admired as he is feared. And on top of that, terribly charming. Sometimes I wonder if… oh, never mind me, I’m rambling. I suppose my point is, Hugo Weasley can pick friends by the dozen – yet he never showed any interest whatsoever in any other person than your son. And much to my surprise, Scorpius responded… beautifully.”  
  
By this time, Hugo looks slightly embarrassed and surprised – which I find totally adorable, I confess – and my father looks somewhat shocked.  
  
“Your son, Mr. Malfoy, simply __bloomed_ _ under Hugo’s attention. I’ve heard him talk to him, which is an exceedingly rare occurrence on its own – but not only do they talk: I’ve heard him _l _augh_ _ – imagine my surprise! And there is __contact_ , _Mr. Malfoy. They hold hands, and I’ve seen them hug, and I’m sure you recognise the importance of that for someone as __delicate_ _ as your son. I’ve put all the teachers under strict instructions not to break them apart as long as they stay within the limits of decency and acceptable behaviour. I understand how vital a human touch is for Scorpius, and I hope you treasure the fact that your son found someone he can trust so implicitly, he’s willing to let him into his personal space, and – as it seems – his heart.”  
  
She’s looking at him sternly, almost as if waiting to see if he’s capable of coming up with the right answer for this life-test she’s presented him with, but Father only exhales heavily… and then finally nods slowly. My heart just… soars… there is no other word for that.  
  
“I suppose if he treats Scorpius right… even if he’s a Weasley…”  
  
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” the Headmistress positively explodes, startling us all. “You are not going to be bothered by that folly, are you?! A centuries-old family feud that was hardly ever more than a contest over who would impress the famously beautiful and infamously capricious Black daughters the most that got out of hand and never brought anyone anything other than sorrow! You’re going to dwell on that?! You can’t be serious! I’ve taken you for a more sensible man, Mr. Malfoy!”  
  
She glares at him, and he shrinks uncomfortably under her verbal assault. Her strident speech has all the elements of a teacher scolding a wayward student, and I think she rightfully determines that she has the upper hand. When she speaks again with revived eagerness, she seems keen to annihilate what’s left of my father’s stubbornness:  
  
“Yes, Hugo is a Weasley. Yes, his father shares the same considerations regarding the fact that Scorpius is __your_ _ son. But surely you’re not going to get something as minor as your childhood antagonism towards the boy’s parents influence your attitude towards Hugo Weasley?! That would be both – absurd and immature, to say the least, if not downright harmful to your son. If you stop him now, he may never build his shattered courage again to attempt another relationship. The damage would be vast and irreversible!”  
  
“Wow!” Hugo murmurs next to me. “She’s a force of nature when she’s after something, isn’t she?!”  
  
And I must agree. My father looks slightly ashamed – I can tell by the pink tinge in his cheeks – and I just know what he’s going to do next; I’ve lived with him long enough.  
  
“Well, what do the boy’s parents have to say, then?” he strikes, because in the book of Malfoy, offence is the only proper defence. “Did that berk Weasley… Ronald, say something about my son? Is he not good enough for his precious child?”  
  
“That __berk Weasley_ , _Mr. Malfoy, is already loudly lamenting the fact that he’s going to have to invite you over to spend the holidays with them, as there are apparently pure-blood customs that command it,” McGonagall says without bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “In my book, that reads as if he had already accepted you as family.”  
  
“Nonsense,” my father murmurs, but quite inexplicably, a small smile he can’t seem to wipe off appears in the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Well, I dare say that if Mr. Weasley – Senior, that is – finds out that you oppose to the union of your children, he will go out of his way to __defend_ _ it,” the Headmistress points out smoothly, matter-of-factly, and Merlin Almighty, I didn’t know she was such a sly fox! Hugo seems to share my opinion.  
  
“And they call me manipulative!” he murmurs with a semblance of indignation. “If she keeps this up, our fathers will fight which one of them will drag us to the altar by the hair! I’m only fifteen!”  
  
And that, I’m sorry to say, starts a bubble of hysterical laughter in my chest that I cannot hold back. Try as I might, I cannot stop the joy building up somewhere inside of me from boiling over. I try to silence myself by putting a hand over my mouth, but it’s of no use. Hugo only has to take a look at me, desperately trying to suppress my giggles, and he’s roaring with booming laughter of his own, no reservations in place.  
  
I’m sure we must have startled the adults, and we definitely ruined the illusion of the door still being solidly in place, but I can’t say that I’m bothered. All I care about is being pulled into the arms of my beautiful, fiery-haired boyfriend and feeling his chest rumble in laughter under me. He tousles my hair lovingly, and I can’t… I can’t put it into words how much I love him. _  
  
_“Khm.”_  
  
_ I recognise my Father’s attempt to gain some attention, and with much regret, I pull out of my lovely Hugo’s embrace. By the way my father raises his eyebrow, I’m certain I’m a sight, all tousled up and with tears of laughter still in the corners of my eyes, but he merely glances over me before his eyes stop on Hugo. And I’m not even anxious. Who could not love my beautiful, blue-eyed Gryffindor, seriously?! I just know Father is going to be pleased, I know it! He’s never going say it, of course, but he is!  
  
“So... you’re Weasley’s… Ronald’s son. No doubt of paternity, I see.”  
  
“I’m afraid not,” Hugo says casually, with a big grin. “I’ve got my dad’s talent for falling for the best of them,” he shoots another blissful smile in my direction, and I feel myself blushing when our eyes connect. But then, he dutifully looks at my father again, and explains with a serious face: “According to some, the only thing I got from my mother is her brain, but Dad always mumbles not to rely too much on that, since it’s only a question of time before I blow it up with the rest of myself.”  
  
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a tiny now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t smile in the corner of my father’s mouth. He definitely looks much less stern, and even mildly entertained.  
  
“Dear god…” he murmurs to himself. “Weasley talent for morbid humour, and a knack for adventure to boot. Merlin save us!”  
  
“Oh, before I forget,” Hugo suddenly reaches into his pocket. “Mum and Dad sent a Howler – well, one each, actually – and both Howlers had a message in the end. Mum wants you to know… er, let me read it, I was kind of deaf and disoriented when I got it, can’t recall a thing… _  
  
_‘Tell that blond prat… tell Mr. Malfoy, please, that he’s kindly invited to Christmas dinner in the company of his lovely son, but if I hear the “M” word fly once, he’ll be sorry he survived the war…’_  
  
_ Uhm, I guess she was still rather livid at me when she wrote that… she must be projecting… what’s the “M”-word, I wonder? Oh, and here’s the one from my dad… sorry, they’re both a bit crumpled, but this one exploded, so it’s burnt as well… Here it goes… _  
  
_‘Tell the ferret… Tell Scorpius’s father to bring his Quidditch gear. Harry wants to see if he’s still any good at fucking…’_ _ no, sorry, not fucking, oh, bloody hell, Dad, this handwriting… _flying_ , _it says… flying! Uh… ‘Harry wants to see if he’s still any good at flying… Unless he’s too old and rusty now and afraid to freeze. In that case never mind. He can watch us play from Great Aunt Muriel’s rocking chair, covered with a blanket.’  
  
And my father… my father straightens himself up as if someone just threw a glove at him, asking him for a duel! His eyes narrow into proper serpent slits and he hisses immediately:  
  
“You can tell Weasel… that is… please, write your father and inform him that I accept his challenge!”  
  
“What challenge?” Hugo looks at him, and blinks innocently. “It was a dinner invitation with a bit of recreation in the end.”  
  
_“Precisely!”_  
  
“Right,” Hugo mumbles, looking a bit sheepish. “I’ll let him know.”_  
  
_“You do that. Scorpius, I’ll be seeing you at the station in a couple of days. Come here.”_  
  
_He pulls me closer, hugs me tightly and whispers _“Please, be careful”_ _ in my ear, before he presses a tiny, invisible kiss into my hair and walks out of the Headmistress’s office. I don’t think he realises he still has a minuscule smile under a frown on his face.  
  
“Hugo!” I hiss as soon as we’re safely out of the office ourselves. “There was no bit about Uncle Harry wanting to see my father fly! What were you on about?!”  
  
“Your dad accepted, didn’t he?” Hugo says calmly, smiling like a cat that just devoured a nest of mice. “And I happen to know for a fact that __my recently divorced_ _ Uncle Harry used to appreciate the sight of your father’s behind in Quidditch gear, so he __might_ _ have thought it. It’s not like your father is going to ask Uncle Harry if he really said that.”  
  
“You were doing it again, weren’t you?” I shake my head in despair at the impossible, cheeky menace I have for a boyfriend. “Manipulating. And they call __me_ _ gifted!”  
  
“Gifted, odd, different… what does it matter?” he stops and pulls me into his embrace. “As long as I am – whatever I am – with you.”  
  
He kisses me slowly, sensually, sweetly, and I can’t even fake being angry with him. Besides, he’s right, you know. I don’t mind being the way I am, as long as that’s just the way he loves me… It’s not like I know how to be any different.


End file.
